Speak no Lies
by madefornight
Summary: "The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep." Hanna Hooper died three years ago. Sherlock refuses to acknowledge she ever lived let alone he ever cared for her. But when a world class serial killer comes to London Sherlock must reach for those memories and help put life back into the woman he loved {Sherlock/OC}
1. Summary

Hanna Hooper and her friend Benjamin White died in a tragic plane crash over the Atlantic. There was an explosion in the cabin and the plane was lost to the bottom of the ocean. It was ruled an accident but without a crime scene to prove the case rumors have run wild. Some say Hooper was the target because of her ties to the recent Jack Jr. case. When a man killed twelve women and forced another twenty-five to become his spies. Others say that the man behind Jack Jr. was not actually dead and it was his final revenge to kill her.

Sherlock couldn't be bothered with these theories. Hooper was dead and his promise to her was void; that's all that mattered. John tried to get the consulting detective to admit he mourned the girl but Sherlock, being Sherlock, refused to discuss the matter further.

That was three years ago and Hanna's family is holding a candle light vigil for their fallen love one. Molly has invited the Baker Street boys and begged them to come. John agrees instantly and says' he'll bring his new girlfriend along too. Sherlock moans and whines but agrees in the end. A decision he could be happier with when a body drops from the sky in the middle of the event.

The body has a note.

The note is addressed to H. Hooper.

And waiting for them at home is a surprise neither saw coming.

"Hello boys."

"But… you died."

"Did I?"


	2. Fade Away

"So… you'll come?" the question was posed by Molly Hooper as she fiddled with the tea-cup in her hand. She was still in her work clothes, bodily fluids staining her pants legs where her lab coat hadn't reached. Her mousey brown hair was up in its usual ponytail and it too had signs of blood.

Not a good day at work then, Sherlock mused to himself as he turned back to the window and began playing his violin. He idly wondered what had transpired for the blood to get there but since he didn't really care quickly brush off the question to focus on the street below him.

"Of course," John said sitting down across from the shaky girl. "We wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Says you," Sherlock scoffed.

"Sherlock!" John Watson was a small man, well compared to Sherlock he was. But the height advantage didn't help him if John got mad and decided to punch the Consulting Detective; which had happened a few times.

"What?" Sherlock asked anyway, willing to poke the bear a little.

"She was our friend-"

"You're friend," he corrected the blonde man. "I don't remember her."

"You still don't?" Molly asked. "After all this time? Didn't you promise her you would?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I was under the impression that her death voided that promise." Molly flinched and Sherlock knew he would get berated for that one latter. John was already glaring daggers at him from his chair but Sherlock paid no mind. He simply went back to playing and listened in on his friends.

"When is it? I have to tell Mary soon so she doesn't make plans," John asked the girl who took a shaky sip of her tea.

"Friday," she said. "Starts at six, should be over by eight."

"And it's for Hanna-" she flinched again. Hanna Hooper had been Molly's younger sister. She died in a plane crash while on her way to America. The death of her sister was especially hard on Molly and her brother Mark, because her Hanna had just gotten out from under the thumb of a psychopath called Tomas Mathers. Mathers tormented the youngest Hooper for nearly eight years before his death only a few short weeks before Hanna's.

"It's not right," Sherlock remembered Molly saying to John shortly after receiving the news. "She was just starting to live again. She'd just gotten her life back. And now it's gone, snuffed out like a candle." Sherlock had to agree. If there was a god, it seemed he bore a special hate for Miss Hooper.

"Y-yes," Molly's voice shook. "For Hanna and we invited the families of Tomas's other victims as well." Tomas Mathers was a mind the likes of which Sherlock had never seen. He raped and killed twelve women that looked like Hooper just to get her attention. He created a network of spies just to spy on her and then plotted to destroy them all as well as himself and Miss Hooper. He was sadistic and psychotic and enjoyed destroying any happiness that Hanna procured.

"How sentimental of you," Sherlock sighed in boredom. "It's been three years, Molly; surely you've grieved enough by now"

"Sherlock-" John began but was cut off by Molly.

"I've got this," she said softly to the shorter man before standing up and walking over to Sherlock. The Detective frowned, his violin handing down by his sides. Molly's dark eyes, filled with sorrow, lock with his silver-blue ones before she slapped him hard across the face.

"No! I have not grieved enough," she shouted at him. "She's my sister, Sherlock! I love her- I miss her. She was taken from me eleven years ago by a monster. And then, just when I was starting to get her back, she died. I'll never get to bury her, never get to say goodbye to her, because she's fish food at the bottom of the fucking ocean!"

"I'm-"

"Don't tell me you're sorry when we both know you're not!" She stopped him with a fierce glare. "Maybe you would have been if this was before- before you hit your head and forgot her. When you had emotions and loved my sister more than anyone has ever loved something-" Now it was Sherlock's turn to flinch. The fire that killed Mathers had also knocked Sherlock off his feet; he hit his head on the stone ground and was unconscious for a few minutes before Hanna had woken him. For some reason he'd forgotten the girl; only her, and nothing else. Around him people tried to help him, remind him of his relationship with the youngest Hooper, but nothing worked.

Hanna didn't try to remind him; she kept her distance from the detective. "I must act like his memories will never come back," she'd explained to her friends. "We cannot go on when I'm at the finish line and he's not even started. And placing all my memories on him could push him father away. No, it's better to step back, remove myself for the time being before trying again."

Molly was crying now, tears streaming from her red puffy eyes, "you don't want to remember, do you?"

Sherlock blinked, "Mo-"

"JUST ANSWER MY QUESTION!" She bellowed at the man. "Do you want to remember her, like you promised you would try, or are you just going to let her fade away?" Sherlock sighed; he should have never told them of his promise to the girl. Only hours before her death Sherlock had spoken with her. He'd found her intriguing and brilliantly smart. For a moment all he wanted was his memories so he could connect to this girl before him.

"No," he said now and Molly's desperate face fell. "I don't want to remember her. If I do now… there will be only pain waiting for me."

She nodded slowly, "I guess. But answer me this, Sherlock; is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?" She didn't wait for his answer as she turned and marched out of 221B Baker Street.

John stood up; he gave Sherlock a pointed look before taking the dirty mugs out to the kitchen and leaving the detective alone in the living room.

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**hey guys! 3 so it's been a while yeah? a whole... day? anyway! here is the first chapter, nothing big, nothing intense just a little hint at how things had changed on Sherlock's end :) i hope you liked it, let me know with a review! next chapter will be on friday! **

**ttyl!**

**-Katy**


	3. Ann Arsvitae

I was on a plane… again; these things were really starting to piss me off. I wanted to get off, I wanted to run away into the forests of France or Canada and never come out. To lie down under a willow tree and not move. I would die under that tree. Finally.

"Ann," Ben's voice flooded my day-dream and I slowly raised one eyelid to give him a questioning look. "Pilot says we'll be landing soon, the team was wondering what their assignments were."

I sighed sitting up and taking the file from his hand. Piano hands, I thought idly, long dexterous fingers that could play symphonies if he chose too. Or lullabies-

"Eva," I barked, slamming down that train of thought before it could continue. "We know he plans to target the event tomorrow night, you will be in the crowd looking for anything out of place." The girl nodded from her seat across the aisle.

Eva Michael: twenty-six, speaks nearly two dozen languages fluently. Black, 1.70 meters with black curly hair and brown eyes. I met her three years ago when Mycroft assigned her to my team. She's young but talented. Her parents were killed by a sociopath when she was in eight. Trust worthy.

"Jeremy-"

He frowned, "I've asked you to call me Jer…"

I looked at him for a moment and his eyes fell back to the floor. "Jeremy, you will be accompanying her. I want you to run the outer circle and watch the buildings surrounding Saint James Park. And no flirting"

"I never flirt when I'm on the job," he smirked and I silenced him with another look.

Jeremy Velishek: twenty-six former American intelligence linguists. Spoke enough of twenty languages to get by. Caucasian, 1.87 meters tall with black hair and grey eyes. I met him two months ago when running an operation in Chicago. Easily distracted by pretty girls. Unreliable, trust worthy.

"Jordan you will be covering us from the van," I said turning to the youngest team member. "Hack into everything, I want every eye on that park."

"Yes Ma'am," He nodded.

Jordan Van Ravenswaay: twenty-four, collage drop out. Caucasian, 1.82 meters tall with blond hair and blue eyes. I met him a year ago when Mycroft sent me to pick him of from Scotland Yard. Arrested numerous time for hacking into highly classified government networks. Dangerous, trust worthy.

"Tate-"

"How come you don't use his real name?" Jeremy demanded and I rolled by eyes.

"Because she has respect for me you worthless sniveling boy of a soldier," Tate sighed, not raising his eyes from the file in front of him. "If you want her to call you "Jer" perhaps you should do your job-"

"Hey I-"

"And do it without getting distracted by one of the female anatomy," he said raising his gaze.

Tate Johnson: thirty-two, British secret service and high-ranking member of the British army. Cucasian, 1.94 meters tall, blond hair and blue eyes. I met him at the same time I met Eva, three years ago. A good man, good head on his shoulders and he was right, I do respect him. Not trust worthy.

"Tate I want you on one of the buildings. Whichever you like, I don't care," I said looking back down at my file. "Have your favorite toy at the ready; see someone with a body on them, drop 'em. I'll be running mission control from the van with Jordan," I said closing my file. "Ben you take my spot in the inner circle with Eva."

"Ann I can't," he said shaking his head. "They will recognize me. I'll take Jeremy's spot in the outer circle, he and run the centers with Eva."

Benjamin White: twenty-nine, former med student. Caucasian, 1.75 meters with dark brown hair and blue eyes. I've known him for nearly four years now. He's stayed with me even after his longtime boyfriend, Bradley James, died saving me from a fire that was meant to kill me and twenty-five innocent people. Ben was my oldest friend. Not trust worthy.

"Reasonable," I nodded handing him the folder. "Any questions?"

"Yeah I got one," Jeremy said and I sighed heavily.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why aren't you running inner circle like normal?" he asked with a slick wag of his eyebrow.

A small smile spread across my lips, "do you know what event the target has chosen this time?"

He shrugged, "a vigil, right?"

"A candle light vigil for someone who died in a plane crash over the ocean," I said slowly, looking back out the window. "A dead woman shouldn't be seen at her own ceremony, people would talk."

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**hey guys! what did you think? review? maybe? please? pretty please? **

**how are you all? good? bad? meh? well i hope this made your day a little better and if not then maybe to new that im publishing another chapter tomorrow will!**

**yep! tomorrow, just before midnight (central standard time , when it's still friday ;] ) i will publish chapter three! cause it's done and fabulous!**

**anyway, for my american reader: HAPPY FOURTH! for everyone else: HAPPY FRIDAY! **

**ttfn,**

**-Katy**


	4. To Die is an Art

Three years had passed since Hanna Hooper boarded a plane to America. The report says that somewhere along the way the plane exploded due to mechanical failure.

The report is wrong.

The plane landed safely back on British soil with Mycroft Holmes waiting for me. Even at a young age I was a prodigy for my intelligence and observation skills. Certain people took notice, Mycroft being one of them. He got in touch, told me that he wanted me to be his apprentice and eventually I would take on his job. I accepted, not knowing the hell that would follow.

On my nineteenth birthday I met a man in a bar, his name was Tomas Mathers. Tomas was amazing, wonderful, and kind… for a while at least. Soon after I met him, we moved in together and even sooner after that he started to change. The kind, thoughtful, man that I knew disappeared and replacing him was a Monster.

Two years later I went to the police because my vision had gotten foggy and I knew Tomas was doing it. A detective named Lestrade took my case but waved it off saying that if I wasn't happy in my relationship that I should just leave him. When I came back a weak later with reports filled out by my sister, proving I was being poisoned and losing my sight he was forced to do something.

Only he was too late because his partner had just gotten a call saying a man got hit by a bus and died. That man was Tomas, at least that what everyone thought; I knew better. Now blind and very afraid, I moved house and bought three cats because Tomas was extremely allergic. I stayed in that house for five years before my sister, Molly, began insisting I move out and come back to London. She said she had a friend who was looking for a flat mate and was use to taking care of someone who was smart as me.

I knew she was talking about John Watson, I'd been reading his blog about his adventures with Sherlock, almost from the very beginning. When I heard about Sherlock's jump from the top of Saint Bart's I highly doubted he was actually dead. None the less, I accepted the offer to move in on a trial run and I immediately called Lestrade and asked him to allow John and I to aid on his next case.

It almost seems like I was doomed from the moment I stepped foot on Baker Street because the first case we went to was the day I met John Watson. The cause was a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes who'd been strangled to death in a nearly empty apartment building. The girl was only sixteen but had a fake I.D. saying she was nineteen. She was one of the victims of a man people were calling Jack Jr., as in Jack the Ripper. It was only later that I found out that Tomas was Jack Jr., that the girls he was killing were all to get my attention. It made sense after he told me, they were all blonde, blue-eyed and were in that age range of nineteen to twenty-two, the ages I was when we were together.

It was around this time that I first came into contact with Sherlock himself. "Do you believe in Monsters, Mr. Holmes?" I asked him.

"Everyone has their demons," he replied.

That wasn't what I meant but he didn't know that. He didn't know that a Monster haunted me, showed up to taunt me when I was alone but he promised I wouldn't be alone anyway.

For a while, he kept that promise. He stayed with me and we grew quite close until the time came when he found out that my monster and Jack Jr., whose kills were now twelve, were one in the same and that I've always known. He was gone for three days and in those days Tomas visited me four times. On the third day I left Baker Street and with Mycroft's help I faked my death for the first time. I went into hiding, moving all the way to America to get away from Tomas. My hopes were that Sherlock would use the time immediately after my "death" to hunt down my Monster and put him behind bars.

That was not the case. Instead he used his time to track me down, not believing for a moment I was actually dead. After months of pestering Mycroft finally told his brother where I was and Sherlock got on a plane. He confronted me, angry that I lied to him and faked my death. He said I caused trouble and made him take time away from the cause.

"NO ONE ASKED YOU TOO!" I remembered shouting at him. "No one asked you to find me Sherlock! I told Mycroft to keep you out of it!"

"Yes well you should have known-"

"Known what?" I demanded. "How am I supposed to know anything about you Sherlock?"

"YOU KNOW EVERYTHING," he bellowed "You've know my every move since before we ever met-"

"I thought I knew you Sherlock, but I was wrong! I thought you were good, maybe even kind, that you kept your promises!"

After a speech from me and a few more desperate words from him I jumped into the lake. For someone who can see this isn't a big problem but because I was blind at the time it was a deadly choice.

I guess that was the first time I tried to kill myself. Because like Sherlock said: I cause trouble. Better to snuff out the flame before it can spread into a fire. But the universe wouldn't let me die and saved me in the form of Ben, who I'd meet almost upon arriving in America. Ben pulled me from the water and was ready to rip Sherlock a new asshole for letting me sink but Sherlock stopped him.

"I wasn't going to let her drown- I was going to go in and get her. I would never let Hanna die- she's too important."

"Important?" I questioned, "What do you mean?"

By the end of the night Sherlock admitted he cared for me without actually saying it. And then for two months we just were together. We walked around town, had lunch dates with Ben and Brad who'd I also met in my time there. For two months we allowed ourselves to forget about Tomas or the problems back in London.

But Tomas wouldn't let me forget him for long and he struck back by turning himself in to Lestrade, saying he would confess but only to me. That if they didn't locate me within thirty days he would kill everyone in Scotland Yard. Of course I came back then, how could I stay away and let those people die? But Tomas had more tricks up his sleeve than anyone realized and with the help of those he blackmailed managed to knock out Sherlock, John and Lestrade and kidnap me.

He baited Sherlock into a trap saying he could take one out of the twenty-six people there away before he set off the bombs and killed the rest. Among the hostages was myself, my brother Mark, Brad, and Irene Adler. I tried convincing Sherlock that we didn't love each other, that he loved Irene still and that I loved Tomas. He almost believed me but ran after me before I could go to Tomas. He kissed me, there in front of the hostages and Tomas who grew angry and set off the bombs.

Bombs that threw us back and Sherlock his hit head. When he woke he had no clue who I was or how he gotten into the predicament. That made my path clear, what was the point in living if I had every reason to die?

So that's what I did, or tried to do. I opened the doors knowing that the flames that would rush towards the new oxygen would swallow me whole and I would die. But the universe saved me again, this time in the form of Brad who grabbed me and pulled me to the ground, allowing the flames to take his life instead.

Tomas, Brad, and Irene all died in the fire, the other twenty-three hostages, Sherlock and I all got out with only a few burns, most of them where minor. Sherlock had a concussions and amnesia while I had burns to my arms and most of my hair had been singed.

Four weeks later Hanna Hooper boarded a plane but when that plane landed thirty minutes later she did not get off.

The report says that Hanna Hooper died on that plane.

The report is right.

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**hey guys! so this was mostly revision with a few gems hiding :) **

**soooooo I have a challenge for you guys? maybe? perhaps? if you want to? **

**I want to see how talented my readers are (but come one we both know your are smart and brilliant and talented and wonderful) I want you guys to make something about Hanna and Sherlock. basically anything you like just be creative and send me a pm with the url!**

**possibilities: **

**poems**

**banners**

**trailers **

**songs/lyrics **

**etc. (let me know in a PM and ill tell you if it's ok)**

**rule: must be submitted by the 12th of July. if you submit after that you wont be eligible for the prize ...**

**FIRST PLACE: I will write you a 5000 word one shot on the subject of your choice (this could be ANYTHING: as fluffy Sherlock/Hanna, a smutty JohnLock, a spicy Darry fic. ANYTHING, provided I know what the hell it is)**

**SECOND PLACE: 2000 word one shot **

**THIRD PLACE: I will read a story/poem/other of yours and give you my honest to god opinion and advice should you require it (but come on, I know you're all wonderful writers) **

**anyway that's enough from me 3 I love you all and hope your day is wonderful! let me know if you're interested in the challenge at all :))NOTE: this challenge is not just on Fanfiction but also on Mibba! **

**love forever,**

**-Katy**


	5. Ripped

"This one is going to be tricky," Lestrade said leading Sherlock and John to the morgue. "Hells of a lot of people don't want you on the case."

"Then why are you inviting me?" Sherlock asked in a bored tone.

"Because this man has killed sixty people around the world and now he's in London," Lestrade said peaking the taller mans' interest. "This is his first victim in London and if he continues to follow pattern there are nine more on the way."

"Why weren't we at the crime scene?" John asked and Lestrade turned to look at the Doctor.

"Like I said, people don't want you two on the case."

They reached the morgue to see Molly waiting for them with a body on the table in front of her. She looked very tired and John felt his heart-break for the oldest Hooper. This was a hard time for her and would, more than likely, only be made worse by coming into contact with the Consulting Detective.

"His name is Emmett Martin," she said looking over the file in her arms. "Fifty-two has been a cabby for the last twenty years. Was found at the foot of the London Eye." She looked up just in time to see Lestrade pull down the blanket. The dead man's body was virtually untouched but for his neck where his throat had been ripped out.

Lestrade sighed, "They call him the Ripper," he began as Sherlock took a closer look. "He travels to major cities around the world and literally ripped the throat out of his victims. This is his first kill in the London area. His victims are random, innocent people just pulled off the streets and then found about an hour later missing their throat-"

"Detective Inspector what do you think you are doing?" a new voice asked and they all turned to see Mycroft walking towards them with an annoyed expression.

"Your brother is the only one who will even have a chance of getting this man," Lestrade said.

"I told you I already have a team working on this case," Mycroft said in a board tone. "Sherlock will only get in their way."

"Your team is useless," Sherlock said still looking down at the body. "How many victims have dropped since they started working?"

"five- well now six, I suppose," Mycroft shrugged. "What of it?"

"And what do they know?"

Mycroft smirked, "I can't tell you that, Sherlock. You know it's an open investigation. Stop trying to trick me, it won't work."

"Worth a shot," he shrugged standing up. "But anyway, I won't need your information. I've gathered enough here. Let's go John," he said walking away, John and Lestrade following him quickly. Molly sighed and began to put the body away but Mycroft stopped her, tapping her hands with his umbrella.

"Take the rest of the night off," he said. "My people will clean up." She nodded and started walking towards the door when a group of people entered the room. There were six of them; some looked very young while others appeared to have the weight of a thousand lives resting on their shoulders. One of them, the smaller of the two women caught her attention.

She was a little taller than Molly, being given a few inches of height from the ridiculously high heels of the boots she was wearing. Her long blond hair was pulled over her shoulder in a loose braid with the ends dyed a light red. Her blue eyes and freckles were very familiar but everything else was foreign. She wore tight-fitting black pants with pockets down the legs. Her black t-shit was tucked in and clung to her like a second skin. Heavy black eye makeup made her seem dangerous, maybe even a little mysterious. She looked so familiar but the thing that held Molly back from calling out her sister's name was the expression on this girls face.

She looked angry, determined, and even a little sad. Her face was severe as she marched ahead leading the group towards Mycroft and the body. Hanna had never had that expression before, and it twisted and turned this girl's face from being the mirror of a girl long gone, to a complete stranger. No that girl was not her sister; she was silly to have ever let the thought cross her mind.

With a deep sigh Molly turned back towards the doors and left Saint Bart's Hospitable to get ready for his sisters vigil.

Sherlock walked out of the morgue of Saint Bart's too see a group walking towards them. The group consisted of six people, a team. More than likely this was the team Mycroft was talking about. They certainly didn't look like any kind of Saint Bart's' employees.

They were made up of four men and two women. The men were all large, for the most part they were taller than him but all were thicker with muscle. Two had dark hair, almost black, while the other two were bright blondes. At least two of them were soldiers or former soldiers. One was definitely a criminal and the last was vaguely familiar, though Sherlock was sure that if he did know the boy he'd deleted the memories a long time ago.

The women were opposites. One was dark-skinned, a mass of dark curls bounced around her face as she walked. The other almost stopped Sherlock dead in his tracks. Apart from being completely and totally wrong she was an exact match for the late Hanna Hooper.

She appeared to be the leader of the group as the rest followed obediently behind her. Neither she nor her group spared them even a glance but Sherlock couldn't keep his eyes off her. Her blonde hair, her blue eyes and those freckles, they all told him that it was the youngest Hooper. But her clothes, her heavy eye makeup and hostile demeanor told him no, it wasn't her.

Everything he'd seen and learned about the only blond Hooper was that she was a sweet girl. She wasn't violent, she didn't hate without good reason. She was honest, and forgiving but this girl didn't seem to have any of those qualities. She seemed angry, harsh and willing to take anyone down without a second thought.

No, this girl was not Hanna Hooper.

"Lestrade show me all your files on this case," Sherlock said as the continued walking. "I want to learn as much as I can as quickly as possible. I'll probably be up all night John-"

"No you won't," John said stopping the detective. "Sherlock, we have plans tonight-"

"Oh I'm not going to this ridicules vigil-"

"Hanna's vigil?" Lestrade asked. "I almost forgot that was tonight- and what do you mean you're not going?" he demanded turning towards the dark-haired man.

"I have more important things to do than morn a woman I don't even remember," Sherlock growled. "Like stop a kill that's moved into town and provides a very interesting game for me to play-"

"Sherlock you are going to the vigil," John said in a low, deadly tone. "Even if I have to drag you there myself."

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**hello loves 3 so I've worked really hard on this story and have a few chapters ready to go so im posting this one tonight and another one tomorrow :] as always, please leave me your thoughts in the review section because that would be lovely and make me happy! **

**for those participating in the challenge remember that it's due Friday at midnight. after that it wont count towards the prizes :{ sad mustache **

**anyway, I hop your days were all lovely (or are lovely depending on what time zone you're in)**

**ttfn y'all**

**-Katy**


	6. A Time to Forget

**some people were wondering about what Hanna thought about seeing Sherlock and Molly... she didn't particularly care :P **

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"Ann, you do realize who we just passed, don't you?" Ben asked as I looked closely at the body.

"Of course I realize," I sighed, taking a closer look at the torn throat. Or trying too, my vision was cloudy, the colors were dull. I couldn't see the wound on this man's body, that's why I needed Ben.

"And?"

I frowned, standing up straight to look at him. "I fail to see why it matters."

"Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper, your sister, just saw you," he said, worry coloring his tone, "you're supposed to be dead at the bottom of the ocean-"

"And if they actually thought it was me they would have said something," I rolled my eyes, returning to the body, "but they didn't, they were silent and continued on their way, doing their job." I glance up at him, "like you should be doing, now will you get down here and take a look at this?"

He sighed heavily before putting on gloves and leaning down to look at The Rippers work. "Same as all the others, he ripped out the jugular with his hands, looks like he used some type of fiber gloves this time; I can see threads lodged in the wound."

"Get a sample," I said pulling off my plastic gloves. "Jordan I want those results before breakfast tomorrow."

"Yes, Ma'am," he nodded stepping over to take my place beside the body.

"Eva?" I asked turning back to look at her. "The note, what did it say?"

The girl walked forward a thin piece of paper in a Ziploc baggy in her hand, "another taunt, Ma'am. But he's definitely targeting the vigil tonight."

I looked over the note; the words blurring together until all I saw was broken Italian. "And the translation?"

"Dearest Ann," she read. "Our game goes on and yet you fail to catch me. I'm disappointed. But perhaps you are just simply incapable of seeing evil. God knows Tomas Mathers fooled you all those years ago, and now I fool you too. I hope to see you at tonight's Vigil, may the late Hanna Hooper rest in peace. Yours truly, R."

"Didn't you say that it was your Vigil? Who the hell is Hanna Hooper?" Jeremy asked as he walked up to us.

"Someone long gone and let's leave it at that," I said in a deadly tone and he turned away quickly. "Eva, bring the note to Mycroft have him keep it with the others.

"Tate go, start scouting," I continued giving orders as a timer on my phone went off. "Find a building you like and set up. Jordan once you have the sample go with him; I'll be with you in an hour to run point."

"Ann," Ben said pulling off his gloves, "timer."

"I'm not deaf," I growled. "Eva and Jeremy, go start running outer circle, when Ben and I arrive start spiraling in. We have an hour and a half till this thing starts and from what we know of this man, He likes to make a scene."

"What are you and Ben off to do?" Jeremy smirked and I gave him a deadly glare.

"If you needed to know then I would be telling you," I hissed, fed up with the boy. "Now get your Ass to the van before I kick it there." He didn't hesitate in rejoining the others walking out the door.

Ben waited a moment, letting them get farther down the hall, before he shook his head, "it's not his fault, Ann."

"Doesn't matter," I muttered sitting down in the chair as he pulled off his belt.

"You're angry that The Ripper knows so much about you, about the old you," He said using the think leather to tie down my arms. "And you take it out on the team."

"They need to be kept in line," I said flipping my head back as he straddled my lap. "And Jer needs to stop asking questions."

"You like that he asks questions," he rolled his eyes, pulling out a small clear bottle from his jeans. "It's why you recruited him back in Chicago, now hold still." He unscrewed the cap and put the eye dropper to my left eye.

The pain was immediate, a violent burn the felt like acid. I winced, and flinched away, the belt restricting my urge to throw him across the room. I let out a slow breath, blinking repeatedly noting how my vision cleared in that eye. "...that was before he started asking questions that could get him killed. Now he's becoming a problem."

"Again," he warned me as he held it over my other eye. "You knew the risk of taking the him on. He is a curious little fuck, you knew that."

I laughed through my pain, "You have the hots for him don't you?"

"Jer? Naw," he chuckled getting off me, "Jordan is more my type."

"Ah yes," I smirked. "Blue eyes, blonde hair and strong enough to put you in your place."

"Hey, I like dominating every now and then," he corrected me with a wicked grin as he used a tissue to wipe away the liquid that had trailed down my cheeks.

I rolled my eyes and smirked again. "Then… why don't you dominate?" he looked at me, a small smile still on his lips before he pressed them against mine.

Sherlock had a head ache. The case was there, within reach but John wouldn't let him do anything with it. Every time he tried he'd get slapped over the hands with a ruler and told to go back to his room. So that's where he was, sulking on his bed and his head pounding like a drum in his ears. He rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease his mind but nothing worked.

He pulled out his violin and began tuning the strings, his mind replaying all he saw at the morgue. A body; perfectly intact but for the throat. There were no bruises, no scratches or cuts to be seen. The throat was torn by a human hand, pure strength and will to end the man's life.

How could a man rip out another man's throat and not leave a mark on him?

The groan of the floor boards caught his attention but he didn't hesitate in what he was doing. John was spying on him, why? He wasn't doing anything that would warrant this behavior. He was only tuning his violin; actually, now that he listened to what he was doing, he wasn't tuning any more. He was playing, a song he'd long since forgotten. A lullaby he once knew.

Why John was so interested in it, Sherlock didn't know, or care really. His mind was drifting away to the song as he stood up and began to play it properly. He tried to focus on the morgue but the girl kept getting in the way. Who was she? A clone or a trick of the mind? Hooper had been his thoughts quite a bit as of late; perhaps his mind was projecting her image onto the girl.

No, that wasn't it; He shook his head as he continued playing. Then what was it? A possible blood relation? A cousin perhaps? Unlikely but plausible, he reasoned as John finally opened the door.

"Lovely tune," he said crossing his arms.

"A lullaby," Sherlock corrected before freezing. He turned slowly to John who raised an eyebrow.

"Sherlock?"

"Lullaby," he whispered again, "my lullaby."

"Sherlock what are you talking about?"

"I called her my lullaby," he continued, ignoring John's questions. "At the time I thought nothing of it but and after she died I blocked the interaction almost completely but for the promise you all wouldn't let me forget."

"This is about Hanna-"

"Why would I call her my lullaby?" He spoke over John. "What did it mean?" He set aside his violin and walked into the living room, John followed close behind.

"Sherlock I swear to God if you go towards those files-" John didn't have to finish his threat as his eccentric flat mate walk right past the case files and reached for a thick brown novel high on the bookcase.

"This," Sherlock said paging through it. "A Braille novel, it was left on the bedside table-"

"That was Hanna's," John said. "She was-"

"-Blind," Sherlock finished the sentence looking around the flat. "She was blind when she moved in, I remember... the little blind girl... trying to observe and deduce."

"Sherlock," John began, hesitantly. "You remember Hanna Hooper?"

"No," he said quickly turning around." I mean yes- there are holes. I remember standing on a roof. You and she got out of a cab-"

"The first time Hanna worked a case," John nodded.

"Her hair was so blond," Sherlock mused, his eyes glazing over as he dived further into the memory. "So very blond, but when I last saw her she had red hair?" He turned to John.

"Mathers dyed it trying to hide her from you," John said. "But you found her, you always did. You found her even when she didn't want you to-"

"America," he breathed. "She faked her death and hid in America, clever. I had to go to Mycroft to locate her- no! Stop this!" Sherlock shouted, jerking suddenly, the book falling from his fingers as his hands rushed to his head.

"Sherlock?" John asked, his tone edging on panic.

"Hann-" Sherlock growled and jerked again. "No, enough; Stop this, stop it now." he paused a moment. John hovered nearby, prepaid to restrain his best friend should there prove to be a need.

Slowly, Sherlock stood up straight, adjusted his jacket and turned towards John, "I apologize if that caused you some discomfort it normally happens when I am alone."

"What the hell was that?" John demanded, his voice shaking.

Sherlock's lips were pressed into a hard-line, "sometimes…" he began. "I get these flashes, pockets of memories of Hooper. They are sudden and strong, what you just saw was me stopping them-"

"Stopping them?" John asked. "Why would you do that?"

"As I told Molly I don't want to remember," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The girl is dead-"

"Sherlock you were better when you knew her," John said, his voice still shaking but now with sorrow rather than fear. "You were better, happier even… and now you're just throwing that all away?"

Sherlock said nothing and John hung his head.

"We should go," the dark haired man said turning towards the door. "I believe the Vigil will be starting soon, yes?"

John chuckled but there was no joy in the sound, "yes, it starts soon. You go ahead I have to go pick up Mary, I'll meet you there. And Sherlock, I swear to god if you aren't there I will find you and I will drag your corpse across that park." Sherlock normally would make remark about the unlikelihood of that happening but thought better. John was not joking. His posture, facial expressions and the fact that he had his gun on him told Sherlock he was very serious. Without a word Sherlock put on his coat and walked out onto the empty street.

* * *

**I WARNED YOU THAT I WOULD NOT BE NICE TO THEM! I WARNED YOU! you can not get mad at me because you didn't listen! **

**any who, I hopped you all liked the chapter! leave your thoughts in the review section! im going to be posting the next chapter Wednesday, july 17th so looked forward to that! **

**remaindered: contest ends at midnight tonight**

**ttfn **

**-Katy**


	7. Ring-a-round the Rosie

To be honest I never understood the premise of a vigil. Everyone stood around with candles and did… what? Prayed? To who? Spoke about a fallen loved one? What good did their thoughts do them now? The vigil is said to be about me, about my death on that plane. But this was about my family, about Molly trying to heal her heart from the wound my death caused. I was "dead" I had no need to prayer or kind words. Why couldn't people just say: I'm sad that _insert_name_here_ died and I want you all to be sad with me?

As I sat in that van, watching my team circle and scout, I did feel sad. The Ripper knew who I was, he knew the impact this event would inevitably cause. He wanted to ruin my vigil and scar the people who loved me, forever.

He wanted to reveal the truth.

"Eva, you're moving too fast," I said into the mic. "Slow down, you're morning a death, remember." I got no answer but saw her pause. She set aside her candle, pulled out her water bottle to take a drink before putting it back and stating again, slower.

"Ma'am?" Jordan spoke up to get my attention. "Look here." I turned to look at his screen and saw a man in a tan trench coat get out of a cab on the far side of the park.

"Ben," I said. "A man in a trench coat, about a hundred feet east of you, check him out."

"Got it," he said, walking causally in that direction.

I heard a huff and then the sharpshooter spoke up, "are you sure he's gonna be here? He could just be taunting you to throw you off."

"No," I said quietly. "He's going to be here. He loves an audience- Jeremy! I said no flirting!" I barked into the mic when I noticed my other inner circle had stopped to talk to a pretty red-head. He flinched and said he had to take a call, pointing to the Bluetooth piece on his ear.

"Damn," he whispered walking away. "You sure know how to blow out a guy's eardrum."

"You are lucky I can't get out of this van," I growled. "But do remember this when I wake you up for my morning work out tomorrow." He flinched but continued walking.

It was quiet for a while, the man in a trench coat proved to be nothing when he met up with a woman in the park. There were no new leads and the team had fallen quiet, waiting for me to say something.

And I was about too, I was about to abort the mission when someone called on the attention of those who attended the vigil. I turned to the screen to see Molly standing at the podium. My sister did not smile; there was no light in her eyes and no hope in her body. She looked tired, and very, very sad.

"Hello everyone," she said with a forced half-smile. "Thank you all for coming. We are here today because someone died. My sister, Hanna Hooper."

I felt Jordan's eyes turn on me but I just stared ahead and he looked away. "Hanna was… good, kind… an innocent soul in a mess of chaos created by a monster. She didn't deserve what he put her through, and when she was finally free the universe killed her with a mechanical failure.

Molly paused, her voice cracking, "my sister deserved better, deserved more out of life than fear and sorrow and guilt-"she choked on a sob and Mark rushed to her. He hugged her and brought her away while she cried.

"Ann…" Ben trailed off, "Are you okay?"

I didn't have a chance to answer him as another figure approached the podium.

"Hanna was my flat mate for less than a year," John said. "She came into my life when I needed her most. I wouldn't have admitted it of course; I thought I was doing well. And then she walked into and… she showed me that I had healing to do still.

"Like Molly said," he gestured back to my sister. "Hanna deserved better, from all of us really. She was suffering and no one looked enough to see it." I scoffed and Jordan looked at me again. "She took care of us, helped us, and healed us, even when we didn't ask for it. She turned a robot into a man, something I never thought possible.

A woman, I faintly recognize, walked up to him and handed him an unlit candle. "Hanna, I light this candle for you, my prayer that you find some peace. You deserve it, you deserved it here and you deserve it where ever you are now." he lit the candle and walked away, his arm around the woman.

Mark approached the podium but was stopped by a tall figure in a dark coat. Sherlock and my brother exchanged looks or something, I wasn't sure it was hard to see on the screen. My brother eventually stepped back and allowed Sherlock, I assumed and unscheduled speaker, to approach the stand.

"Most of you know who I am," he said after a moment, his voice like silk as he spoke, "And my association with the late Hanna Hooper. Not many of you know that I don't remember that relationship, having hit my head in the explosion, which finally ended Tomas Mathers' life, and I suffered slight amnesia because of it.

"I only remember what little I saw of her after that," Sherlock continued. "But that in itself was… extraordinary. Miss Hooper had the power to make more of a man such as myself, the robot as John said earlier, she showed me that there is more inside people than I thought. Not everything is black and white, not everything is clean.

"While I do not remember much of her I know I will never forget her," he said taking an unlit candle from John. "I don't believe in heaven or god but should I be wrong, should- Hanna- be with us in spirit or smiling down from the clouds I hope she hears this.

"In your name I light this candle," he said pulling out a small lighter. "That where ever you are, you are happy. And Hanna, I will remember, one day; when the pain won't be so great. This is my promise to you, my lullaby, and this one I will keep."

My eyes stung and I looked down, away from the screen. I blinked and blinked trying to disperse the tears that threatened to spill. God damn it, these people. They didn't know a god damned thing! I didn't deserve better! I didn't deserve these prayers, these kind words were wasted on me! What about the twelve women that Tomas killed in my name? They deserved the prayers, the thoughts and kind words belonged to them and their families! What about the twenty-three people who almost had their life ruined by Tomas, simply because they knew me? What about Brad, who died saving me? He had a whole life ahead of him; he was going to school to become a therapist to help people suffering from their mental demons. He had Ben, who loved him more than anything, and a whole life to build with him. What about him?

"I need some air," I said into the mic with a low, threating tone. "Keep a look out." And without a glance at Jordan, whose eyes were still on me, I got out of the van. We were parked across the street from the park; the vigil was about a hundred meters ahead of me. I stayed back; leaning against the trunk of a tree I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. I lit it like the fools lit their candles and walked around talking amongst themselves. I watched them from the shadows as I took a drag and wiped away one the one tear that had managed to sneak out.

Sherlock and John were still on the stage, away from the podium where my brother stood giving his speech. They spoke quietly, their candles flickering in the wind. I watched them for a moment as they talked. John seemed concerned for his best friend, like something Sherlock said had surprised him. I took another drag, my eyes locking onto the back of the only Consulting Detective in the world.

That's when the body dropped.

That's when the chaos rung out.

That's when Sherlock turned around.

That's when, even from a hundred meters away, sliver sought out blue.

That's when his eyes locked with mine.

* * *

**Hey guys! How did you like the chapter? As always a review would be AMAZING 3**

**Now down to business! The contest!**

**The results are in and I just want to say think you to those who made something or submitted something! You guys are awesome!**

**1****st**** place: Rylenae (fan fiction) with an amazing banner! i40 tinypic com/xlcfo7 jpg (that is the url just replace all the spaces with dots to see for yourself!)**

**2****nd**** place: Lady Schmetterling (fan fiction) submitted Fragile by Kerli as a song that reminded her of Sherlock! It's wonderful I've been listening to it nonstop for last week!**

**3****rd**** place: happyface811 (fan fiction) submitted Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran as her theme song for Hanna and Sherlock. Its super cute!**

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**Winners please contact me about your prizes and what you want me to write or read! **

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**I love you all and hope your days are wonderful!**

**Till next time!**

**-Katy**


	8. A Study of Silver and Blue

**HEY GUYS! So I thought I'd chat with you a bit, yes? okay!**

**Rylenae: congrats! Your banner was amazing! As to your prize of course I can do that! it should be fun!**

**Lady Schmetterling: I know, Sherlock can be such a sweetheart when I make him! lol. Don't forget to message me about what you want your one-shot to be about!**

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**That's all I have for today! Don't forget, updates are every Tuesday and Friday now! because I'm amazing and have gotten pretty far ahead lols. ;}**

**Till next time!**

**-Katy**

* * *

Sherlock stepped away from the podium with his now lit candle and Mark took his spot. John was waiting for him, a few feet away. "That was… enlightening," he said and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Shut up."

"No, I mean it," John continued with an honest look. "I never in a million years thought that you had that in you. Maybe the man who loved Hanna isn't all gone after all."

"He never was," Sherlock said in a low tone as his eyes met those of his best friend. John frowned, and moved as if to say something but a loud thud stopped him. A scream rang out from the crowd and Sherlock spun around. A body lay on the pavement and the people went into a panic.

Something, he wasn't sure what, caused him to look up. There in the distance, standing under a tree, was the girl from the morgue. She was covered in shadows but for her face which glowed like the moon peeking out from the dark. His eyes locked with hers and he felt the air leave his lungs.

Because for a moment, when silver met blue, he was staring at Hanna. It was impossible and crazy, but for that moment Hanna Hooper stood under a tree. Her face a mask a horror and shock before someone passed between them and the connection was lost. The girl turned and ran across the street to a van, which had been parked there all night, and opened the passenger door. She paused a moment, turning back towards him, her shadowed eyes locked with his one last time before she got in the van and drove away.

Sherlock hesitated only a moment more before jumping off the stage and rushing towards the body. It was a woman, mid-twenties with red hair and green eyes. She'd been at the vigil, Sherlock noted seeing wax drops on her sleeves. The body was broken and twisted from the drop but right away Sherlock knew that, that wasn't what killed her. Like the body in the morgue her throat was missing. Unlike the body in the morgue she had a note pinned to her denim coat.

The note was addressed to H. Hooper.

"She's dead," Sherlock said softly as he reached for the note.

"Drop it, Sherlock." He heard familiar voice say and he rolled his eyes.

"Mycroft how long have you been here?" Sherlock asked standing up, "lurking in the shadows waiting for a body to drop?"

"I was invited to pay my respects to the late Miss Hooper, same as you," his brother said in a bored tone.

"Speaking of her," Sherlock slipped his hands into his pockets, "why is the note on the body addressed to her?"

"Haven't the faintest," Mycroft shrugged, "this man is a psychopath and it's not my job to try and understand him."

"No but it is your teams job," Sherlock challenged. "And because they are your team you ought to know."

Mycroft smirked, "time to go home Sherlock."

"You need me," he said in a low tone, "you know you do."

"Have a good night" he said before turning to John. "Make sure he stays out of it."

"Sherlock is right," John shook his head. "You need him. Your team isn't cutting it-"

"John-"

"THIS WOMAN WAS HERE!" John shouted. "She was attending the Vigil! I knew her and now she is dead only a few feet away from me. If your team can't solve this, and soon, then Sherlock will take the case and he will solve it."

"Damn it!" I cursed jumping into the van.

"Ma'am?" Jordan asked climbing up to the driver seat.

"Not now, just drive," I growled opening the glove compartment and pulling out two Bluetooth pieces and handing one to him. "Please tell me someone saw where the damn body came from."

"It dropped out of the sky," Jeremy said. "I looked but I didn't see anything, too many damn trees."

"Eva?"

"I thought I saw some lights," she offered. "Like a helicopter, but like Jer said, there were too many trees to get a good view."

"Tate give me good news or so help me god-" I said pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Small helicopter flying south," he said. "Can't see the driver."

"That's enough," I said. "Ben, Mycroft should be over by the body now. Tell him I still have all the footage we collected to go through and make sure no one sees the note…"

"In a minuet," he whispered. "Sherlock and John are there now, arguing with him. John is pissed."

"I can imagine," I murmured, my head falling into my hand as I suddenly felt dizzy. "Right, Eva, Tate, and Jeremy go secure the scene. Ben, once you're done with Mycroft …go to the morgue and examine the body. Jordan …and I have a little errand to run before we all meet up at S-Scotland Yard and before you say it… Ben, remaining dead is no longer an option…"

"What are you and Jordan going to do then?" he asked in a tired voice.

I sat up and looked over at the blond boy beside me, noting the way the world spun as I did so, "I believe it's t… time for me to go home… J-Jordan, take me to 221B Baker Street, I have a-a… threat to…" And then the world went black.


	9. Theory of a Lost Girl

Sherlock walked into Baker Street with John right behind him. "Can you bloody believe the nerve of that man?" John growled as he took off his coat. "To continue to insist that we stay out of it when the psychopath goes and does that. I had half a mind to sock him."

"John-"

"I mean it was Hanna's vigil!" John said, "And this man drops a body in the middle of it, not only that but it's the body of someone who was there! She was the waitress who Mathers drew into his web. I knew her-"

"John-"

"She was just starting to get her life back together too," John sighed rubbing his eyes. "Was out meeting guys, had a new job at that club that's opening soon; Second Light, or whatever. She said it was brilliant and was really excited about it."

"John!" Sherlock growled and the other man looked at him.

"What?"

"We are not alone," Sherlock said, his eyes scanning his surroundings as John drew his gun. Slowly, cautiously the two men walked up the stairs until they reached their flat; they turned the corner to their dark living room.

"Hello Boys," a voice came out of the darkness and Sherlock flipped the light switch.

"But… you died," John whispered lowering his gun.

"Did I?" there was a chuckle, "how unfortunate no one told me."

"No, this is- this is impossible!" John shouted getting angry now. "YOU ARE SUPOSSED TO BE-" he took a step back, choking on a sob. "If you are alive… then what about Hanna?"

Ben took a step forward, slipping his hands into his pockets. His hair was darker than the last time John had seen the boy, he was thicker too. Whatever he'd been up to these last few years had packed on the muscle, making him almost seem intimidating.

"She would have been here," Ben said, his lips pressed into a thin line. "But sometimes as second in command I have to help our leader even when she won't help herself."

"But she is alive?" John asked in a weak voice and Ben nodded. John turned around and punched the wall, hard, putting a hole in the drywall. "Am I just cursed to continuously have friend that will fake their deaths?" he growled turning back around. "Why did she do this? What was her reasoning this time?"

"It was Mycroft," Sherlock said suddenly and they both looked at him.

"Mycroft?"

"She took the job," Sherlock said studying the boy before him, "as his apprentice or successor or whatever."

"What and she had to be dead to do that?" John demanded.

"No but that was an option," Ben said with a straight face. "Fake your death or risk everyone you know. Not many are like Mycroft who is surrounded by people who can take care of themselves. And in Mycroft's line of work you make very powerful enemies. She would not risk you all again."

"So she died," Sherlock said in a low tone. "But why did you "die" with her?"

"Make it more plausible," he shrugged looking at the detective. "If it was only Hanna who died you all might not have believed it. But if poor, innocent Ben White died as well…." He trailed off giving them a smirk. "Not really one for faking my death, now am I?"

"What was it you were saying before?" Sherlock asked taking off his jacket. "About being the second in command?"

"I am the second in charge of Alpha Team. We track down psychopaths around the world and put them away. We are currently working on The Ripper," he said folding his arms behind his back in a sort of military stance. "Hanna is our leader. She wanted to come have a word with the two of you. I thought it best if I did that instead."

"Why?"

"Because Hanna isn't who you remember," he said glancing between the Doctor and the Detective. "She has changed, not for the better."

"What do you mean?" John asked in a low tone. "What has happened to her?"

"Well she doesn't go by Hanna anymore," Ben started. "She dropped that name when she got off the plane. It's Ann, now. Ann Arsvitae."

"The Art of Life," Sherlock said walking over to the window.

"Which is ironic because Ann isn't living," Ben continued. "She's closed off, harsh and extremely focused on what is right in front of her. She doesn't have time for emotion or sentiment, as she puts it. All she knows is the case at hand, anything else is… trivial, nonsense."

"Sounds like someone I know," John muttered and Sherlock spun around.

"Right, when do we get to the important things?" he asked with a bored sigh. "Like The Ripper, I would very much like to know more about that."

Ben let out a hard laugh, "Sorry boys that's classified-"

"Our friend- well my friend- died tonight," John hissed. "And I'm very certain this one isn't faking it- though really who the hell knows anymore. Anyway, I want to do something, I want to track down the man who did this and make sure he pays dearly-"

"And we will," Ben said in an even tone. "Trust me Ann is completely focused on this one. I've never seen her work so hard at something-"

"You've let seven bodies' drop since you've been put on the case," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Clearly whatever you're doing isn't working. Someone else needs to be brought in- I need to be brought in."

"Ann will never allow it," Ben said his lips forming a hard-line. "And unfortunately that's the second part of my message. You two, need to stay out of it. Mycroft was being nice when he said you'd only get in the way. The truth is if you keep digging Ann will find out. And she WILL stop you-"

"Hanna-"

"Doesn't exist," Ben said cutting off John. "I told you she's changed. If you get in her way, she will stop you; one way or another."

* * *

**sup homies? (...yeah im never saying that again...) anyway! how did you like the chapter? I tricked you didn't I? you thought it would be Hanna/Ann waiting for them didn't you? ;P NOPE! hehe **

**anyways leave your thoughts in the review/comment section! and don't worry Hanna and Sherlock will have a reunion of sorts this just isn't it 3 **

**ttfn y'all!**

**-Katy**


	10. Entertain Me

**at long last! the Ann/Hanna and Sherlock reunion! you guys wanted it so here it is! though I don't think this is what you pictured :P**

* * *

I woke up in a very bad mood. Next to me Ben laid on top of the comforters, staring at the ceiling. "Benjamin!" I shouted sitting upright in the bed. "What did you do?!"

"The same thing you were about to do," he shrugged, not shifting his gaze at all. "But with some tact."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I growled throwing the blankets from me and standing up.

"Ann you are supposed to be dead," he said finally looking at me. "Not only that but you are a completely different girl from the one they knew, so different that your own sister didn't recognize you. They needed a moment to brace themselves. I gave them that."

"And just how the hell did you manage to drug me might I ask?"

He sighed, standing up, "Tate had a second gun on the roof last night. When you ran back to the van he shot you with a middle sedative through a needle so thin you wouldn't even feel it. Scared Jordan half to death when you suddenly passed out."

"You and Tate…" I trailed off turning away from him. "Of course… you and Tate."

"Ann?"

"It's nothing," I muttered turning back to him. "Sherlock and John, did they understand the consequences of not complying?"

He rolled his eyes, "I explained it very clearly if that's what you're asking. Whether or not they listen is a whole other story. You know them; they don't just let things like this go."

"They care too much," I said rubbing my eyes.

"John is especially adamant about being brought on," He said walking up to me. "What happened at the vigil really shook him."

"John is an ever bleeding heart," I mumbled as he wrapped his arms around me. "Did Jordan go over the footage?"

"Yes," he nodded tucking his face into the crook of my neck. "The girl got a call and left the vigil during John's speech. There are no clear images of the pilots face. It's like he knew where to turn to hide."

"Another dead end," I growled stepping away from him. "Damn it!"

He sighed, sitting down on the side of the bed. "The note is being translated by Eva now, Jeremy is helping-"

"Jeremy?" I asked raising an eyebrow.

"It's in Russian and uses a few slang terms that Eva is unfamiliar with." He shrugged. "They said they'd text when it was done but you know how those two work together."

"Right…" I trailed off, running my thumb over my lip. "I have about an hour before Mycroft calls demanding to know how things are going."

"What will you tell him?"

"Don't care," I sighed walking towards the door. "I'm popping out for a bit, don't wait up."

"Ann," he said with a knowing tone. "Let them be, you don't need to go shaking their world more than it already has."

I turned to him, one eyebrow raised. "You seem to be under the impression that I care how they take it. I don't, I'm bored and Sherlock has always provided a great source of entertainment. When the translation is done text me, till then- piss off."

John work to the smell of bacon flooding the flat. Sherlock wasn't one for cooking and Mrs. Hudson would have waited till they were awake to offer them food. Mary was at home sleeping off the trauma she experienced last night.

If he was being honest he knew who it was, he'd known the moment he woke up. He ran through the list praying there was another option. It couldn't be Hanna, please don't let it be Hanna, he prayed as he walked down the hall and entered the kitchen.

At the stove a girl stood. She was a couple of inches shorter than him though she was given extra height from the frankly dangerous looking heals she wore. She was clad in black, black pants, black shirt and boots, she even had on black gloves, he noted as she flipped the bacon. Her long hair was a bright sliver blond and was pulled up in to a high ponytail. The ends were a dull cooper color and he sighed heavily.

"Good morning John," She said glancing over her shoulder. Her blue eyes covered in heavy eyeliner as she appraised him. "Sleep well?"

"Not really," he said sitting down at the table, slowly. "I'm beginning to think the flat is haunted. The dead keep coming back."

"It seems they tend to do that around you," she said with a low chuckle.

"Does Sherlock know you're here?"

"He is aware," she nodded. "He's currently dressing. I guess he wants to look his best for an old love."

"He still doesn't remem-"

"Part of him does," she cut him off as she served up the food. "Part of him remembers. He's just in denial now. Pushing off what cannot be avoided. You know how he is."

"I do," he nodded slowly as she set a plate in front of him. Two eggs, bacon and toast; just like Hanna use to serve.

"so, who was the woman?" she asked taking her usual seat at the end of the table, pulling her leg up to rest her arm as she lazily took a bite of toast.

"Woman?"

"The one you were with at the vigil?" she asked. "You looked very close."

"Oh," John nodded, taking a bite of the eggs. "Yes, that's Mary-"

"Did you say Mary?" she asked suddenly, her head snapping up as her eyes got wide.

He frowned, "…yes? Why?"

She looked down, regaining her composure, "nothing- it's nothing. Sherlock, why don't you stop lurking about and come join us?"

John looked up just in time to see his eccentric flat mate enter the kitchen. His eyes were glued to the girl at the table, but she paid almost no mind to him as she continued to eat.

"I see the super hearing is still intact," John muttered finishing his eggs. "Thought that would have gone when you got your sight back."

"Your senses are as sharp as you train them to be," She said, not looking up from her plate. "But hearing aside I saw him lingering in the hall way through the reflection off the window."

John laughed and she looked up, "something you want to share with the class?"

Her slightly annoyed and borderline dangerous tone sobered his chuckle as he glanced from her to the tall man behind her. "Well what you just said reminded me an awful lot of a certain Consulting Detective."

"We are nothing alike," they spoke in sync and John raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, completely different," he nodded, the sarcastic tone in his voice making Ann twitch.

"John, why are you eating that?" Sherlock questioned walking around to the empty side of the table. "For all we know she's poisoned us-"

"If I wanted to kill you I wouldn't use poison," she rolled her eyes as she reached for a strip of bacon, "Too many variables. No, your food is safe Sherlock."

"Then how would you do it?" he asked still not sitting down. She did nothing for a moment, just a girl eating breakfast, and then she moved. Quick as lighting so all John saw was a blur and next thing he knew she had Sherlock with his back to the wall. Ann, herself, was standing flush up against him with her right leg up above his shoulder and one ridiculously high heel embedded in the dry wall next to his head.

"Quickly," she said their faces less than a foot apart, "so all the variables are in my hands."

"A clean kill," he said not taking his eyes off hers.

She smirked, "my boot will get a little dirty."

"Obviously."

"Remind you of anything?" she asked with a suggestive wag of her eyebrow. "Being pin down and helpless beneath me?"

"Only that it didn't last," he said moving suddenly. Grabbing her leg and flipping her over so she was bent over the table while his other hand reached for hers and pinned it behind her back. "Then again you liked fighting for dominance."

She laughed; flipping her hair back to look at John who was still in his chair watching with wide eyes. "I told you he remembered."

Sherlock let her up, "of course I remember. You were always there, in the back of my mind clawing your way forward. But what I remember is only a shadow of what happened; the basic outline of a drawing."

"How sweet," she smirked hopping up on the table and swinging her legs like a child. "You couldn't forget me."

"And yet I find myself wishing I could," he growled.

"You don't want to forget, Sherlock," she smiled, reaching forward to grab the waist band of his slacks and pull him to her. "I'm your angle, your lullaby, remember? You made me a promise."

"I made Hanna Hooper a promise," he corrected, gently tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. "You are Ann Arsvitae, I promised you nothing." And then he spun out of her grasp and walked towards the living room.

She cocked her head to the side and looked at him. "Hanna Hooper was a helpless child." She said stopping him short. "She couldn't even save her friend from a measly fire trap. I could, I could have saved them all and killed Mathers before a single bomb went off."

"It doesn't matter who you could have saved or who she didn't," he said in a bored tone. "You and she are very different creatures: the real Jekyll and Hyde. And just between us, I don't particularly care for Hyde."

"See unfortunately for you, Hyde doesn't care very much if you like him," she shrugged, standing up and making her way back over to the Detective. "Also unfortunate for you, Hyde is bored. Hyde needs to be entertained."

"You have the biggest case of the century in your lap," Sherlock began with narrow eyes. "And you're bored?"

She shrugged, her lips pressed into a hard-line, "isn't it sad?" and then she turned and walked out the door.

* * *

**not what you were expecting was it? I told you before I even started that I wasn't going to be nice to them, that this story will be painful. this is just further prof that I am a woman of my word. **

**anyway tell me your thoughts in the comment/ review section please! I love hearing from you guys cause it make me happy and when im happy I like to write :)) *hinthint*coughcough***

**ttfn!**

**-Katy**


	11. No Happy Endings

Ann Arsvitae, I thought as I walked down the street. The name I chose for myself when I died the second time. The Art of Life, what was she? Because she didn't feel like me; she felt like a stranger, a different persona that I could adapt at a moment's notice. When I was her I was cold, cut off from emotions and all other irrational distractions. When I was her I was devoid of feelings and it allowed me to think. I suppose I was a mirror of the old Sherlock, like John said.

But as I walked down the street, tears started to form in my eyes and slip down my cheeks. I didn't like being Ann, I hated it in fact. But I couldn't handle the guilt and sorrow that being Hanna entailed. When I got on that plane to fake my death all the memories came flying back; striking me with the heartbreak and death that I was a part of. And I was a part of it, not matter what the others said; I was part of Tomas's destruction. I could have done something, told Sherlock or Lestrade who was killing those girls but instead I kept quiet. I hid away inside Baker Street and kept my mouth shut.

And then there was Sherlock. God damn he was beautiful. Seeing him in the hall at Saint Bart's I felt nothing, because I was Ann. But standing under that tree, those speeches had broken through my shield and reached Hanna. When the chaos started and he looked right at me my heart hurt with need. Need to run to him, need to hold him and need to kiss him and apologize.

"Enough," I hissed wiping away the tears that had fallen. "Enough of that; enough feeling sorry for yourself. You don't get to feel bad, you don't deserve it. You're an accomplice… you are a Monster Hanna Hooper. You don't get a happy ending! Your happy ending died-" my sentence stopped short when my phone chimed.

The translation is done.

Good, I thought slipping back into my shield. Hanna Hooper faded away and Ann Arsvitae fell back into place. This is why I adopted the shield; I thought putting my phone back in my pocket and hailing a cab. Because as much as I hated Ann, I hated Hanna more.

"Lestrade where is my team?" I demanded as I arrived at Scotland Yard. He did a double take, his eyes going wide with shock before they narrowed in confusion.

"Hanna-"

"My name is Ann Arsvitae," I said cutting him off. "Leader of Team Alpha, the ones in charge of tracking down The Ripper."

"Oh," he said, blinking repeatedly. "Yeah, sorry you looked like someone I once knew."

"Inspector Lestrade I am not interested in who I look like," I said with a silencing look. "I am however interested in the note that my team has finished translating so I will repeat my initial question: where is my team?"

He blinked again, hesitating only a moment longer before nodding towards that back, "Right this way."

He led me through the building, stealing glances very chance he had. He wasn't the only one though; Donovan and Anderson among others blatantly stared as we walked past. I ignored them though and kept my eyes locked on what was in front of me until finally I saw my team.

Lestrade has us tucked into a glass conference room. My team was hard at work finishing the set up. Maps and scribbles covered the walls along with the faces of the two London victims.

"Before anyone says anything read me the translation," I said walking into the room.

Eva stepped forward looking very annoyed. Probably because of Jeremy, I thought as she began to read. "Dearest Ann, how are you? I hope your night was as pleasant as mine was. The vigil was beautiful; they cared so much for the dearly departed Hanna. Sherlock especially was surprisingly sentimental. I know he surprised you; your tears were a lovely thing to see at such an event.

"Seven bodies have dropped since you began this case and you are still helpless to find me. Perhaps our dear Ann is ill-equipped to find me. Perhaps you need the help of a certain Consulting Detective. Or maybe, just maybe, you need the help of one Little Blind Girl.

"Till next time Love, R," she looked up at me, her eyes wide with fear. I suppose my expression was rather murderous as everyone had taken a step back.

"Right," I hissed through clenched teeth. "This man needs to..." I trailed off rather than finish my sentence and be charged with premeditated murder. "Ben, what did you find on the body?"

"He used latex this time," he said handing me a file, "we ran the tests and there was nothing out of place in the blood or on the body. She was clean."

"Jordan what do you have on her phone records?" I asked and there was silence.

"Ma'am?" he asked looking very confused.

"Our victim got a phone call that drew her away from the Vigil!" I shouted at the boy. "And you didn't think it would be nice to have the phone records to see if she's had calls from this person in the past?!"

"Right," he nodded hurriedly before walking over to his computer and typing away.

"And you Jeremy!" I shouted turning to him, his eyes going wide. "What the hell is on your shirt?!" I demanded and he looked down.

"Um…" he trailed off, looking down, "Hitler riding a triceratops and holding a rocket launcher?"

"Why?"

He raised an eyebrow, "because… well, my normal answer would be "fuck you that's why" but you're my boss so…I don't really have an answer…"

I paused a small smiled spreading across my lips, "thank you for volunteering to be on babysitting duty for the remainder of our time here. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, they are your responsibility now. Watch them, do not take your eyes off the one in the trench coat, he is a slippery bastard." He walked away sulking and I turned back to the file in my hand.

"Did you know her?" Ben asked in a quiet tone as we stepped away from the group who went about their business. "The Victim?"

"She was a waitress at a club I went to when I lived at Baker Street." I said in a low tone, "She was always kind to me, assisting me through the crowd to a place where I could dance without getting in the way of others or knocked down. She got drawn into Tomas's network because of her kindness."

"It's not your-"

"She was an idiot," I cut him off before turning back to the boards and looking over the map of London. Ben sighed heavily before turning away and getting back to work.

* * *

**hello loves! so many you asked for fluff to counteract the bitterness of the last chapter... sorry I already had this one finished... -.- also don't expect any fluff from the next two chapters either cause they are also finished and... not... fluffy... sorry. **

**but to give you a little bit of reprieve they do give you important information about Hanna/Ann and why she is the way she is so... fair? yes? no? maybe? please don't kill me? **

**anyway remember to leave your thoughts in the comment/review section. follow me on twitter (madefornight) and tumblr (whenworldcolide, or openletterstobenedictcumberbatch) for fun and laughs and feels. feel free to message me any time of the day and I will get back to you asap. **

**also what are your thoughts on me opening up a youtube channel? the videos would be short little things that happen to me maybe i'll read bits of my stories or just fangirl over Benedict Cumberbatch. idk let me know what you think! **

**ttfn y'all**

**-Katy**


	12. A Time to Remember

Sherlock stood in the entry way of Baker Street. John was visiting Mary for the night and would not return. Mrs. Hudson was down stairs watching her programs so she wouldn't be coming up any time soon. So he had the flat to himself, exactly what he wanted.

Upon entering the living room visions or flashes of memories surrounded him like a mob. Everywhere he looked there was another version of her, all talking and moving, demanding his attention. In the past he had learned to tune them out until they were just a soft buzz in the background. Now, alone in a quiet flat, he would face them. He took a deep breath and allowed his mind to focus on one memory.

"Sherlock help me with this!" she said. She was crouched down on the floor, struggling with a small brown tabby cat. In her hands was a cluster of fabric of all shades of purples and pinks.

"What are you doing?" he asked confused and she looked in his direction, but her eyes just drifted over him, smiling.

"I told you before," she giggled, "when I'm bored I dress Babs up as a pretty princess. Well I'm bored, Lestrade hasn't got a case for us, people still don't trust you and there is nothing to do. There for Babs gets beautified!"

"And you want me to….?" He trailed off sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Help me!" she said tossing the fabric at him. "He's fighting especially hard today, I suspect it's because you're here. He's never gotten dressed up when other people were around before. He's a little shy."

"He's a cat," he sighed heavily as he sat down across from her. "He doesn't think that way."

"Yes but it's fun to pretend," she smirked; her blue eyes almost seemed to lock with his before they started drifting away again.

"Then what should we put on princess Babs first?" he asked looking through the cloths. "The tutu?"

She giggled again, "Yes, let's start with that then we'll put on the cape and the crown!" she faded but Sherlock was still on the floor. Hanna had cats, three of them. Bab's was her favorite and she liked to dress him up in ridicules costumes when she was bored.

He stood up and turned to see her sitting in his chair. She was dressed in a set of pink pajamas and was twirling a thin letter in her fingers. "I told you today was not a good day," she said, her voice weak, lacking conviction to get him out. "Why are you here?"

"You told me to go home," he sneered. "This is home."

"I suppose I should have been more specific." She nodded slowly, her unseeing eyes turning down to the letter in her hands.

"You're clever," he frowned, "really clever."

Her voice was soft when she spoke, "Yes."

"You would have known to be more specific," he said tilting his head to the side. "You wanted me here."

"I suppose you're right-"

"I'm always right," he cut her off in a cold and cruel voice. "The question is: why?"

The letter stopped twirling and she looked up at him. Her face was a mask of calm, but fear and sorrow bubbling just behind her sightless eyes. "Do you believe in monsters Mr. Holmes?"

He frowned, "Monsters?"

"Monsters, Demons, Evil so pure you confuse it for good?" She asked with a joyless smile on her lips before she stood up and crossed the short distance between them. She placed her small hands on his biceps and pulled him down to her level so she could whisper in his ear. "I got confused; and when I'm alone, The Monster comes back."

The memory faded again and Sherlock stood up straight. This was Sherlock's first conversation with The Little Blind Girl.

The next morning when John came home Sherlock was sitting in his chair with his head in his hands. "Sherlock?" the Doctor asked in a low tone. "Are you okay?"

"Far from it," Sherlock muttered. "While you were away having your fun with Mary, I was here surrounded by memories. Did you know memories could attack you? Overwhelm and even destroy you? I didn't."

"You remember?"

"I had to go through each memory, one by one," Sherlock continued. "To focus and play it out. You would have thought I'd finally cracked; wandering about the place talking to myself. Sally wouldn't have hesitated to put me in the loony bin. She'd finally be rid of me."

"Sherlock," John said walking up to his eccentric flat mate. "Are. You. Okay?" Sherlock looked up then, his eyes red and shining from tears.

"No, John," he said slowly. "I am not, okay. I thought knowing she was alive would ease this… pain. I'm in pain because of her John! My chest it aches with a pressure I don't understand. I told you before that I always thought myself to be above emotion, to divorce myself from them. But once again my body betrays me…"

"You're heartbroken," John breathed in realization a Sherlock let out a short laugh.

"Heartbroken? Is that what this agony is?" he muttered bitterly. "I don't much like it, too distracting. I can't focus on… anything really."

"That's part of love Sherlock," John said carefully. "When you love someone they make you happy, but they also cause you pain. Being in love can feel like soaring, or it can hurt, like there is an immense weight on your chest and you can't breathe. You live for the good times and wish away the bad."

"It seems this relationship was destined for the bad," Sherlock huffed.

John laughed, "You and Hanna have not had it easy. But don't you think maybe it means that much more because of it. You two have hit very nearly every bump in the road but you still stood strong."

"How can we be standing strong when Hanna no longer exists?" he asked standing up suddenly and walking over to the window. "There is only Ann Arsvitae now."

"Are you sure about that?" John asked tilting his head to the side. "Because you were once afraid that if you flipped the switch, turned off your emotion, you would never get them back. And yet here you are, crying in our living room."

"Shut up."

"Sherlock, Hanna is still in there," John said with an amused smile, "it will only take the right man to bring her out again."

* * *

**and poof! Sherlock remembers! :))) I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter leave me a review/comment! I love hearing from y'all :D **

**ttyl**

**-Katy**


	13. Secrets, Secrets are no Fun

I have a secret. The problem is I'm not the only one this secret belongs to. It is as much his secret as it is mine but he doesn't know it. He was a part of something, he has a secret but he doesn't know it. Why should he? Only one person besides myself knew, and I had made it clear that it was in his interest to keep the knowledge to himself. But now I was in London again and my secret, that I had managed to push down into near nonexistence, had risen back to the surface. My secret was ripping apart my shield.

"Ann, we have the phone records," Ben said snapping me back into reality and snapping Ann back into place.

"It about time," I growled spinning back around in my chair and standing up. "Jordan, give me good news."

"Phone came from a disposable cell," he said and my eyes narrowed. "But she had contacted the number before, many times in fact. It was saved on her phone as Hanna H-"

"If you say Hooper I will punch someone," I said cutting him off. The room took a step back from me and I slowly closed my eyes. So the Ripper was masquerading as me. Gaining the trust of someone I once knew to draw her away from a crowd and kill her.

"What did they say?" I asked in a low tone as I opened my eyes again. "You said they talked a lot, what did they say?"

"Um," he turned back to his computer. "Not much of consequence. Normal small talk for the most part. Nothing much we can't figure out from it."

I bit my lip, "right, Ben and Eva contact anyone else who was at the vigil and find out if they have been contacted by Hanna Hooper."

"Ma'am?" Eva questioned and I sighed.

"Since we started this case and the game he has always left us clues as to who will be next or where the next body will drop, well we don't have much to go on this time. He named Mr. Holmes in the letter which is why I sent Jeremy to watch them. But other than that we have him pretending to be Hanna Hooper to draw the victim away from the crowd. He could be saying he's going to do it again."

"It's thin," Ben said rubbing his finger over his lips.

"But it's all we have," I said in a final tone. "Now do I have to repeat my instructions?"

"What will you do?" Tate asked crossing his arms over his chest.

I looked up at him, a smirk playing across my lips. "It's a secret."

~8~

John sat in the living room with the paper. His eyes scanned the columns but he didn't read the words before him. His mind was on Hanna- Ann, he supposed bitterly. What had happened to the bright and happy girl who once roamed about the flat? He knew he told Sherlock that there was still hope, that the Hanna they knew was still in there somewhere but he wasn't as confident as he sounded. He just couldn't stand to see his best friend without hope. Was she in there? He didn't know. He could only pray, to whatever god would listen, that Hanna would come home.

"John, you've been 'reading' that page for the better part of an hour," Sherlock said from the kitchen as he went about one of his experiments. "Should I call someone?"

"No, I'm fine," John sighed setting the paper aside. "Just thinking." Sherlock looked at him, an eyebrow raised and John rolled his eyes in annoyance, "Shut up, I think too."

"Not the same," Sherlock smirked turning back to his microscope.

"No you're right," John growled, "Because there are only four people in the world capable of thinking."

"Four?"

"Right, three now I suppose." John sighed. "You, Mycroft, and Han- I mean Ann."

"Who was the fourth?"

"Moriarty."

"Ah."

John frowned, "Call him."

"Who?"

"Mycroft," John said standing up. "If anyone knows what happened to Hanna, it'll be him."

"Ben-"

"Ben isn't like you or your brother," John cut off the other man. "You saw him; he hasn't a clue what's wrong with her. Mycroft does, and you know it."

"Why don't you call him?"

"He won't answer me."

"True."

"It has to be you."

"I'm busy," Sherlock said pointing to his experiment. "I don't have time to listen to guessing games when there is a case to solve."

"You haven't been brought on to the case," John said crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hasn't stopped me in the past."

"You don't have enough information and you know it."

"You have a date with Mary, wouldn't want to be late for that."

"She'll understand," John smirked. "Really Sherlock? Are you out of excuses so quickly?"

He said nothing.

"Look at it as a case if that helps," John offered. "The case of Hanna Hooper-"

"The Little Blind Girl…" Sherlock whispered, closing his eyes and taking a breath before pulling out his phone. He never had a chance to enter the number, it rang loudly, echoing off the walls, and the two looked at each other. "Hello?"

A twenty minuet car ride later and they pulled up to an abandoned building. It was large, and bleak, there wasn't a soul around for miles. John would have felt uneasy if he hadn't grown use to this sort of sight in the time since he met the Consulting Detective. They got out and John followed the man in the trench coat through the maze until Mycroft and Anthea were visible.

"Sherlock," Mycroft greeted his younger brother who barely looked at him.

"I don't appreciate being dragged away from my work whenever the mood strikes you," Sherlock practically growled.

"You were about to phone me and don't pretend otherwise," Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately, baby brother, the information you seek I cannot provide, for I am sworn to secrecy."

"We have a right-"

"You have not rights here Dr. Watson," Mycroft said with a silencing look. "You are here to ask about Hanna Hooper. She's dead. The sooner you except this fact the better off you'll be."

"She can't be dead," Sherlock said his tone low and even.

"All lives end," Mycroft said with a look that almost conveyed sympathy, "all hearts are broken."

"Then why bring us here?" Sherlock asked clearing his throat. "You could have sent one of your grunts or the lovely Anthea to tell us that. What do you want?" at his comment the girl beside his brother looked up. She blinked in surprise and John shook his head. Of course.

Mycroft left out a short breath, "to ask your help."

"Last time you asked for my help Britain almost paid the price."

"Let's avoid that shall we?"

"No promises."

"The Ripper," Mycroft said cocking his head to the side. "What do you know?"

"Painfully little," he said raising one thick eyebrow.

"Would you like to learn more?"

Sherlock smirked as John spoke up, "I thought you wanted us to stay out of it."

"That was before the last note our serial killer left us," he sighed holding out his hands for a file that Anthea provided. "Since I put her team on the case he has attached notes to the clothing of the victims. They are all addressed to Ann-"

"The last one was addressed to Hanna."

"And that is why I need you on the case," he said handing them the file. "This man knows secrets that only those with the highest security clearance can access."

"I figured it out," Sherlock remarked as his eyes fell across the pages.

"You are the exception, not the rule."

"And how does Ann feel about this?" John asked. "Ben said that she would keep us out of it one way or another."

Mycroft sighed, "Miss Arsvitae is a fascinating character. She has a mind with which she comes up with the most colorful threats to any who cross her but her bark is much worse than her bite. Did you know that in the fourteen cases her team closed in the last two years, she was the one who found the subject every time?"

"So she's good at her job," John shrugged. "What of it."

"But she was never the one who made the arrest or took the shot." He said and Sherlock's eyes shot up. "She is always the first to face them but it is Mr. White who does the dirty work. A fascinating character indeed, for what do you think we can make of that?"

Sherlock met his brothers' eyes, "I don't know."

"Neither do I," he said with an emotionless smile. "Now if you'll excuse me I'll inform Detective Lestrade that you are to be briefed-"

"Mycroft!" a new voice growled out as Sherlock and John turned to see Ann marching across the cement floor. "What is this, what are you doing?"

"Asking a brilliant mind if he will look into something so clearly out of your depth," he said evenly.

"I have a handle on this," she hissed.

"No you don't," Sherlock said with an amused look. "But fear not, I will help you."

"Piss off, I don't need you."

"Yes you do," he said taking a step towards her. "That's why you're so angry about it." They were no less than a foot apart, close enough for his breath to stir the loose strands of blonde hair that fell around her heart-shaped face. The air between them was charged as his eyes traced the freckles scattered like stars across the bridge of her nose. It was like they were magnets drawn to each other by a force they couldn't hope to resist. And he did resist, he could only allow twenty percent of his focus to entertain the conversation at hand. The rest was trying desperately not to scope up the girl in front of him. He knew that if he allowed himself this one favor he wouldn't be able to part from her again. And as his eyes met hers he understood that he wasn't the only one fighting the battle.

"Ann I am your superior, don't make me order you," Mycroft said drawing her attention back to him. Her head turned, her eyes slowly ripping themselves from his to look at his brother, and Sherlock couldn't stop his from wandering down her tiny form. "Sherlock will work beside you for however long it takes to stop the Ripper. If you want rid of him so badly then I suggest you work harder to end this madness."

* * *

**hi guys! hope your day was lovely! my was pretty good but crabby people kept sowing up at work -_- anyway what did you think of the chapter?! I thought it was pretty awesome especially that end bit **

**I find it amazing that sometimes you guys just don't even talk to me lols you just talk to the characters and it makes me smile. **

**the youtube channel is still an idea but I was also thinking it could just do vines too. that would probably be easier or maybe both idk yet. **

**GUYS! YOU ALL SHOULD GO TO YOUTUBE RIGHT NOW AND LOOK UP BIGBANG: FANTASTIC BABY! I am so in love with this song and one of the singers (**

**ANYWHO that's all I got for today! leave me a comment/review telling me what you think! im going to go look up more KPop! **

**ttyl!**

**-Katy**


	14. A Lullaby for Molly

After I left John and Sherlock in the building I did not go back to Scotland Yard. My team was capable, probably more capable without me. No, going back there would be a waste of my time. If they needed me they would text me, I told myself as I walked the cold and empty street. So I had some free time. I briefly thought about going to Baker Street to haunt Sherlock and John a little more but the idea was a dull one. I was just with them; going to their home would do nothing to entertain me.

I walked to the main road and hailed a cab to take me to Queens Road. The ride was short but it felt unreasonably long. I had put this off for much too long and the weight of it bore down on me now. I suppose something's you just can push away.

"Um, Ma'am?" the driver spoke up as I began to get out of the car. "You didn't pay."

I rolled my eyes and handed him a business card, "Call this number; tell the bitch who answers to go to hell and then tell her to put Mycroft on the phone. When she protests tell her Ann told you to call." I then got out of the car before he could stop me again and disappeared down the street.

Alone, I entered consecrated ground. It was empty for the most part; a few civilians lingered about the place. One or two were there to take pictures; the last was visiting someone, like me. I walked through the trees to the heart of the land. A small stone building stood in front of me; the stone turned gray by time. Two, newly replaced, black wooden doors were outlined by marble pillars, the contrast of the black and white nearly distracting me from the missing doorknob. I sighed, taking a large metal key from its place in my boot and inserting it into the slot. I turned the key and there was a loud groan from the lock as it opened and allowed me entrance.

Inside was dark, the only light streaming in from the outside. I took out the small flashlight I carried in my pocket and turned it on. Around me names from centuries ago whispered stories I would never know. I could only guess at their lives as I wondered down the stairs to the main chamber. This room was darker but, thanks to Mycroft, had been fitted with lamps all along the walls. I flipped the switch and the marble almost seemed to glow as it reflected the bright light.

I crossed the room, echoes of the past still whispering as I passed their bodies; but I paid them no mind. I was looking for one voice in particular, the youngest voice here. The ghost with no voice at all.

"You don't know who I am," I whispered. "After all we never truly got to meet." I sighed; this was harder than it looked. "To tell you the truth I didn't plan on ever coming here. All these ghosts that haunt the walk here mean nothing to me. They are stories I will never know. But you are different. You are…

"Shall I sing for you?" I asked, my tone was even but I felt the emotion rising in my throat. "I always wanted to sing for you and with you but…" I trailed off and let out a long breath. "I know just the song for you.

"Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye my love. I can't hide, can't hide, can't hide what has come," I sang from my heart to the name in front of me. "I have to go, I have to go, I have to go and leave you alone. But always know, always know, always know that I love you so, I love you so, I love you so, oh."

I could have stopped there, I probably should have but I didn't want to. The emotion that had been rising in my throat now poured out of me and into my voice making it shaky and weak "Goodbye silver eyes, goodbye for now. Goodbye sunshine, take care of yourself. I have to go, I have to go, I have to go and leave you alone. But always know, always know, always know that I love you so, I love you so, oh, I love you so, oh"

"La lullaby, help me sleep tonight, La lullaby" I sang, my voice weakening to a whisper. "I have to go, I have to go, I have to go, and leave you alone…"

I turned and started back across the room as I finished the song, "Goodbye silver eyes, goodbye my love." And with that final note hanging in the air I walked out of the tomb. I locked the door and put the key back in my boot and started back across the cemetery. The tomb faded into the distance as my walk turned into a run. I had to get out of here, as far away from this place as I could. Because what once had no voice now cried out. The noise was deafening as I tried to cover my ears with my hands and continued to run. My hands were useless but the running seemed to help. As I put more distance between me and the tomb the cry faded until I couldn't hear it at all.

I was on the street, behind me in the heart of the cemetery stood the Holmes family tomb. Generations of Sherlock's family slept peacefully inside, never being disturbed by two boys with no time for the past. With those peaceful spirits laid the remains of Molly Holmes, my stillborn daughter.


	15. Poetic Justice

Lestrade was waiting outside Scotland Yard when they arrived. It was only Sherlock and John as Ann walked past the cars and just kept walking. John wanted to follow her but Sherlock stopped him saying, "We have bigger problems on our hands." He wanted to protest, that was their friend and she was a far cry from alright, but he understood. People were dying, Hanna would have to wait.

"I don't know what you did to get on the case," Lestrade said as they got out of the car. "But thank god you did because these people are running in circles."

"What makes you say that?" John asked, entering the building behind the two other men.

"I put them in the corner conference room," he said and Sherlock smirked.

John frowned, "what? I don't get it."

"He put them in a fish bowl," Sherlock explained still smirking, "the glass room; he could see everything they did."

"And Donavan is damn good at reading lips," Lestrade smirked. "I may not be clever like this one but I have my moments." They turned the corner and John could see their destination. Ann was not there but the boy, Ben, was leaning over the table with three others that he didn't recognize.

The woman was a few inches shorter than him with a mass of dark curls that framed her heart-shaped face. Dark eyes were cast down at the papers between stealing glances at the younger of the two other men at the table. He was sitting across from Ben, his face buried in a tablet. His blue eyes stayed glued to the screen and only looked up to show them something. He was built like a brick house; thick bands of muscles stretched his already tight shirt as he moved. The other man moved around the table to Ben as he pointed something out on a scrap of paper in his hands. He was older than the rest, around five years. He was also physically fit, though he was leaner.

The three of them entered the room and Ben turned around, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm surprised to see you alive. I was sure she would kill you for this."

"Perhaps you don't know her as well as you though," he offered and the boys' eyes dropped to the floor.

"Right well," he turned to the other three. "This is team Alpha, Tate Johnson, Eva Michaels, and Jordan VanRavenswaay. Guys, this is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, they're going to be working this case with us even though Ann told them to stay out of it. They are kind of stubborn like that."

"So we should be bracing for impact?" Eva growled in annoyance. "Or should we just start killing each other and save her the trouble?"

"Eva," he scolded.

"No she's right," Jordan sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Ann's been in a bad mood since we got here. God only knows what she'll be like now that he's on the case."

"She's really that bad?" John asked stepping forward.

Ben shrugged slightly, "I told you she changed."

"Ann is difficult on her best days," Tate spoke up, lazily looking at the papers spread out across the table. "But she's always focused. Since we got here she's been absolute hell. That is when she decides to show up. She's been running off every chance she gets."

"She's just dealing with some things," Ben said sounding almost desperate. "I told you she has a lot of scars here; A lot of unfinished business."

"Yeah but we need our leader if we want to find this man," Eva said shaking her head. "Ann needs to be here, she needs to focus on stopping him!"

"For once I agree with you," a new voice said from behind them and they turned to see another man entering the conference room. "Quick someone write it on the calendar so we don't forget!"

"You can fuck right off," she hissed through narrow eyes before turning back to the table.

"Awe Eva, you're breaking my heart," he smirked putting his hand over his chest.

"Fuck OFF."

He was still smirking when he turned to Sherlock and John, "you've met the rest of the team, my name is Jeremy-"

"You're the one watching us," Sherlock said with a knowing look.

"Watching us?" John demanded, "What do you mean 'watching us'?"

"I was assigned to keep tabs on you two," Jeremy shrugged. "In case the Ripper decided to make you his next vic."

"Why would we be the next victim?"

"Because of these," Ben said gesturing to the papers on the table. "Since we were put on the case the Ripper has left notes."

"More like taunts," Tate said standing up and crossing his arms over his chest. "Meant to torment and antagonize Ann. Each one has given us a clue to the next body drop or the next victim. Mr. Holmes you were named in the last note. You could be next."

Sherlock walked over to the table, silver eyes looking over the scattered paper. "These are the originals, yes?"

Ben nodded, "Mycroft dropped them off this morning. We had copies but I want to take another look at them. I'm not sure what, but something about them is off."

Sherlock smirked at the boy, "your instincts are good." He moved to grab one of the notes but Tate reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "I was invited to take a looked," he said with an irritated sigh.

"Let him go Tate," Ben said with an amused smiled, "let's see what he's got." Tate let him go but his cold, accusing eyes never left the consulting detective.

Sherlock grabbed one of the notes and looked closely at it. "as I was saying, your instincts are good, should you have chosen to focus what is right in front of you, you might have seen it."

"Seen what?" he asked, his annoyed tone and gazed directed at the man before him.

"Ordinary people are so concerned with the context of the words that they never take the time to look at the paper it is written on." He said walking over to one of the glass walls. "And they miss the most important clue of all." he held the paper up, the light of the office beyond them shining through the paper to reveal a faint 'I' printed across the page.

"A Letter," Eva breathed behind him.

"The rest have them too," he said turning back to them. "Your killer is not only giving you one message but two. If I'm right, and I usually am, this one will tell you exactly who your killer is."

~8~

Sherlock walked into Baker Street alone but he was not alone when he got there. Sitting in his chair with her legs kicking slowly over the armrest and a book in her lap, was Ann. She'd made herself at home, her black denim half jacket was tossed carelessly in John chair and her black suede boots were on the floor next to the chair. The thin straps of her top revealed a tattooed pattern across her left shoulder, braille, he realized after a moment.

"Are you going to come in or just stand there forever?" She asked turning the page.

"There is an intruder in my flat," he said stepping inside slowly. "I should be phoning the police."

"Why bother," she sighed heavily, "useless bunch, the lot of them."

"You are a bit biased."

"You think so too."

He smirked; "you were always good at that," she looked back at him. "Seeing what you shouldn't."

"Poetic words since I was blind," she smirked closing the book and pushing it aside as she turned to sit forward in the chair. Her hands moved between the leather and her thighs making her look like a child trying to keep them warm. "I didn't know you liked poetry."

"I've never been particularly fond," he shrugged slipping his hands into his pockets, "but it has come in handy every now and again. Like your tattoo for example." She stiffened slightly and he smirked. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep-"

"and miles to go before I sleep," she finished the poem for him, her head turned down towards her knees as if they were suddenly the most fascinating thing she's ever seen.

"Robert Frost if I'm not mistaken," he said walking slowly over to Watson's chair. "But it is unfinished."

She looked up, "what?"

"Your tattoo," he nodded towards her shoulder. "You've only got the first three lines; why stop there?"

She smiled softly, but there was no joy in it. It was the smile of a sad and broken woman and Sherlock felt pain flash through him. He was supposed to protect her smile, make sure that it was always filled with hope and love. He failed.

"Tattoos can before for more than self-expression," she said as her eyes met his. "Mine tethers me to something."

"I don't suppose you'll-"

"You are smart Sherlock," she said standing up and crossing the distance between them. "Even if I tell you not to go looking, that this is one secret you don't want to find, you will. But I will keep my secret safe for as long as I can. So no, I will not be telling you this one."

"The last time you kept things from me people died," he said looking down into her ocean blue eyes. Eyes that flinched with pain at his words and made him want to take them back. He was supposed to save her from pain. He failed.

"And I am paying for it," she said take a step back from him. "Slowly, but those women will have their justice."

"That's what you're doing isn't it?" he asked moving forward. "You seek a punishment for your part in Mathers' game."

She let out a long breath, her lips giving him another sad smile that broke the detective's heart. "When all was said and done I was walking away with more than I deserved. I had a cure to my blindness, friends who pitied me like I was a victim, and I had you, or at least your word to try to remember. There were no repercussions for my actions."

"So you destroyed what you had gained," Sherlock said, not letting her eyes leave his. "Burned every bridge you had and you kept your cure."

"What I had of it, yes," she said pulling out a thin clear bottle, from the pocket of her jeans, to show him. "But I'm nearly out."

"You never made more."

"Ben tried," she said spinning around and walking over to the window, her finger running across the piano that still sat there. "But I told him I had enough. I kept my sight these three years knowing that it wouldn't last. I guess after nearly six years of darkness the thought of it coming back was…"

"Too much to bear?" He offered watching her in the window; the silver light of the moon outlining her entire body in sliver.

"It was selfish," she said turning back to him, her arms crossed over her chest. "To want what I have no right too."

"Like your happy ending?"

"My happy ending is dead," she said with venom he wasn't expecting. "Because I didn't deserve it."

He raised an eyebrow, "You put too much blame on yourself. You are not sin free but you are not the monster by any means."

She walked up to him, her hands sliding up her shoulders and pulling him down to her level. "Do you believe in Monsters?" she whispered in his ear. "Monsters, demons, evil so pure you confuse it for good?" she released him and walked to the door, grabbing her jacket and shoes as she went.

Pausing in the door way she looked back at him, her sad eyes hardening as she fell back behind her shield. "I think you've gotten confused Sherlock. If you're not careful, you might become as haunted as I am."

* * *

**hello loves! im too tired to say much because it's two a.m. and I am not nocturnal as much as I try to convince myself other wise lols. **

**SHOUT OUT TO ALL THE NEW PEOPLE! ya'll been making me so happy as of late so thanks. I hope I don't disappoint **

**that's all for tonight, im gonna go to bed -_-zzzzzZZZZZZ**

**NIGHT!**


	16. Here and Now

Ben sat at the end of the bed and put his head in his hands. It had been a very long day. He hadn't seen Ann since early that morning, hell he hadn't seen much of her since they arrived in London. He knew that it would be tricky, that being here would scratch those old scars raw again, but he never imagined this. Tate was right; Ann was hell to deal with on the rare occasion that they did see her. It had been nearly a month since their plane landed, a week since Sherlock was brought on the case, and what had been the center of Ann's attention was now so low that she sometimes forgot why they were there.

At first he thought it was because of Sherlock but now he wasn't sure. He wasn't a fool; he knew that they belonged together. He knew that whatever was happening between Ann and him was only temporary. Hanna and Sherlock would be together in the end, as they should be. In all honesty he hoped it would be sooner rather than later. Despite knowing their fate he had fallen in love with the girl. He didn't know when it happened, or why, but she had gotten under his skin and made her home there. Their relationship was purely physical to her, he knew this, but to him it was more. He wanted her, her affection, her body, her heart. But she belonged to Sherlock, she always would.

If they would get back together it would be easier. They would be happy, she would be happy. He could handle it if he knew she was happy; because that was love, sacrificing everything to give another the chance to be happy. Ben could do that for her.

The door opened and she walked in. tossing her jacket and boots aside she walked up to him, her small hands running over his shoulders and up his neck to force him to look at her. She kissed him and he let her, his hands finding their place on her bum and squeezing softly. She smiled against his lips as she moved to straddle him. Her body was pressed against his and small hands roamed down to remove the tight maroon shirt he'd been wearing. They fell back against the bed, their lips moving feverishly; hers with anger, his with need.

She pushed up from him, her core rubbing against him as she did. The braid her hair had been in was a mess around her face and he tucked a loose strand behind her ear. She froze, her blue eyes filling with something that was gone before he could identify it. She kissed him again, more anger, more emotion behind this kiss but he went with it. He pulled her top up over her head and quickly got rid of her bra. She was beautiful, soft orbs like undisturbed snow fit perfectly in his palms and he gave them a squeeze.

"Harder," she breathed tipping her head back as she arched into him. He sat up and gripped her lush ass and flipped them over roughly. His mouth descending on the pink cheery tip of her right breast to suck hard, the once white snow now scared with red by his teeth. She moaned, her hands running though his hair, holding him too her. His other hand made its way down her body and flicked open the button of her jeans. Reaching inside he felt lace and silk which he quickly pushed aside to touch her soaking core.

She moaned again, this time in protest and he stood up and began to remove her pants, "these are just in the way," he grunted as he tugged them down her legs.

"Yours too," she muttered as she struggled with his belt. When they were both naked she grabbed him and pinned him to the bed her hand rubbing his raging erection. She positioned herself and slid down, letting out a loud, primal growl once he was fully sheathed inside her. She rolled her hips as she rocked back and forth on him and closed her eyes in ecstasy. He groaned as his hands found their place on her hips and he began thrusting up to meet her.

He looked up at her and smiled. The idea that he was giving her such pleasure wasn't why he smiled. He knew that in this moment he was replaceable. She could be having any of the men on the team and she wouldn't know the difference. He smiled because in these moments, when she was floating in a cloud of heat and ecstasy, she wasn't thinking about the case, or Sherlock, or Mathers. She was in a kind of peace. He was giving her that peace.

A loud cry ripped through her body as she came hard on him and he allowed himself to come too. Her body collapsed on to him and his arms came up around her as they rode down the after math of their orgasms. They laid like that for a while, his fingers tracing circles down her spine.

After a half an hour he looked down in concern. Usually she'd left by now; Ann was never one for cuddling after sex. She was asleep he realized with a shock. Ann rarely slept. He'd tried to give her something to help but she refused. For her to be asleep, now of all times, made him smile rather than worry. Perhaps rest was a sign she was getting better, maybe soon she would be Hanna again.

"Ann," he whispered, so softly he barely heard himself. "I'm going to move you." He slowly picked up her body and positioned it so she was curled into his side, her head resting across his chest. She moved and he froze trying not to wake her.

"Sherlock," she sighed, tucking her face into the cook of his neck and moving closer. He nodded slowly as pain washed over him. He knew that Hanna and Sherlock would be together, if he believed in destiny he would say that it was fate. But it still hurt to know that she would never love him like he loved her. That these visits were temporary and that he was so easily replaced. But he had her right now, he thought to himself as his arms folded around her. She was here, in his arms and no one could deny him that.

One day Hanna and Sherlock would be together but right now Ann belonged to Ben, and that was all he cared about.

* * *

**omg I still cant believe I wrote that O_O I was blushing the whole time and all night all im gonna think about is this and UGH. **

**I HOPE YOU LIKED IT ANYWAY! leave your thoughts in the review/comment section cause I like hearing from you guys 3**

**ttfn**

**-KATY**


	17. The Ones Left Behind

The hole left by Hanna death was something Molly had gotten very good at hiding. It was known that she still mourned her sister but not how badly she missed her. Hanna was her baby sister, her responsibility, and she failed. Hanna was dead and she could do nothing for her sister. Hell she'd hardly spoken to her in the year leading up to the accident but that's just how Molly was with her family. She loved them, she cared about them, but out of sight out of mind was an unfortunate truth.

She supposed Hanna's death was a bitter blessing in that way. She was now in almost constant contact with Mark and their parents. Mark had moved closer to the city with his new girlfriend, Bethany. She was a sweet girl, and Mark adored her. Molly was happy that her brother had found some sort of happiness for himself. She was most happy that he had found the strength to forgive himself for what he did under Mathers' orders. For a long time he let that dark cloud hang over his head and it kept him from many things. Nothing she said helped it was only when he met Beth that things started to change.

She walked to Baker Street, from her flat. It was a long walk but she needed to think. The vigil had been more than a month ago and she hadn't spoken to either John or Sherlock in that time. She just couldn't bring herself to face them. Hanna's vigil, her final goodbye to her sister was destroyed by a psychopath and Sherlock had smiled.

She was standing in front of his door. She'd been here before, four times in the past month she's made the walk to Baker Street, and four times she turned and got a cab back to her flat. What do you say to a man who takes joy in your misery? She tried to forgive him this time, like she had done so many times in the past. She tried to remind herself that Sherlock didn't think or feel like the rest of the world. At least part of him was robotic in his thoughts and actions.

But he wasn't at the same time. He was human; he had emotions at one time. The way he looked at Hanna back when she was alive told her this. Sherlock Holmes was not a robot.

Slowly, Molly approached the door. Her hand rose to knock but she stopped, leaning into the wood pressing her forehead against its' cool surface. What was she doing here? What did she have to say? She asked herself with a long sigh. As she turned to leave the door opened and she froze.

"This is the fourth time you've approached the door but turned away," his voice was calm and even as she turned to face him. "I think it's time you say what is on your mind."

"Yes, I suppose it is," She nodded slowly walking through the door but pausing next to him, "and just so you know… this was the fifth time." She walked up the stairs, not bothering to take off her coat as she didn't plan to stay long. She walked over to the piano her sister had bought when she lived here. Sitting on the top was an old copy of a book she was very familiar with.

"Hanna's book of poems," she said paging through the thick braille copy. "I bought this for her the year after she lost her sight. She was always fond of poetry said it could-"

"Tether us to what we hold dear," Sherlock finished her thought as he made his way into the kitchen and put on a pot for tea.

"She told you?" Molly raised an eyebrow. "She never talked about this with anyone. The only reason I know is because I caught her at a weak moment."

"We talked about many things in the time we spent together," he shrugged, his eyes locked on the kettle in front of him.

"So you remember her," Molly said, it wasn't a question.

"You don't sound happy about it," he said glancing through the corner of his eye.

"I guess I don't have the energy to be happy right now."

"I would say not," he shrugged. "All your energy is focused on your anger towards me."

Her head snapped up and she let out a bitter laugh, "You know I don't think I will ever get use to that. It's like you know every thought in my head."

"Not every thought," he said as the kettle went off and he pulled two mugs out of the cupboard. "For example I don't know why you are angry with me."

He walked into the living room and handed her a mug and a teabag, just like Hanna liked it. She frowned into her mug as she walked around to sit down in John's seat. "Hanna's vigil," she began looking up at him. "When that woman's body fell from the sky you smiled."

He nodded slowly, sitting down across from her, "I did."

"Why?"

"What are your theories?" he asked and her eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"It's been nearly a month since that night, Molly," he said with a pointed look as he took a sip of his tea. "You came up with your theories about my actions that night and they made you angrier. I want to know what you thought that made you hate me so much."

"I don't hate you-"

"Lying to me is a pointless endeavor and you know it," he said with a straight face. "Molly Hooper since I've known you, you have never deliberately gone out of your way to avoid me. I have been harsh and even cruel to you but you were always there the next day with a smile on your face."

She smiled weakly, "I guess you're right."

"I'm always right," he sighed in a bored tone. "Now, your theories, what are they?"

"I thought about how excited you get when there's a new case," she started. "I tried telling myself that was it because it was easy to believe."

"But that's not what you believe."

"No," she sighed heavily, looking into her mug, "no, it's not. My theory, the reason I couldn't look you in the eye for a month it because I thought you were happy."

"Happy?" he raised an eyebrow.

"That it was over," she clarified. "That the vigil, something you moaned about going to, was over and you didn't have to deal with it anymore. My last goodbye to my sister ended in blood and you were just happy to have it done with."

He cocked his head to the side, "and what do you think now?"

"Now I know I'm just being silly," she said with a forced smile, "it was a silly thought, I'm sorry-"

"Do not apologize," he said cutting her off. "That would not be out of character. You are very far from right, but not far from truth."

"Then why?" she asked looking up at him, a tear falling down her cheek. "Why did you smile Sherlock? What could possibly be your reason?"

He looked at her steadily, his cold eyes deducing and thinking as they raked over her, "I smiled…" he trailed off setting his cup aside and leaning forward, "because I found out she wasn't dead."

She scoffed softly, he hand gripping the mug in her hands tightly, "that woman was dead, her throat was torn out-"

"I'm not talking about her," he said with a straight face. "You know who I mean."

She paused a moment, "is this some kind of sick joke? Are you trying to be funny?"

"Molly-"

"Because you're not," she said standing up. "My sister died. She died and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to save her-"

"Molly-"

"She was my baby sister, my responsibility from the moment she moved to London," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Mum told me to look out for her, 'she's smart but can be so naive' she said. 'Look out for her Molly, make sure she goes down the right path.' But what do I do? Nothing, I called her once in the three months she lived here before her birthday."

"Molly-"

"Shut up!" she shouted, "just shut up, okay? Because whatever you're about to say, I don't want to hear. Hanna died with that Ben boy on the plane."

"You saw her," Sherlock said standing up. "You know you did, but then your rational mind kicked in. 'It can't be her; she's nothing like my sister.' But it was. Hanna is alive, as is Ben. She's working for Mycroft to catch the man who killed that woman at the vigil."

"She can't be," Molly cried, "she wouldn't have done this to me again."

"Ben says she was trying to protect us," he said, his tone even as he carefully removed the mug from her hands and set it on the table. "Mycroft makes enemies in his job-"

"I could have handled it," she hissed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I know," he said with a small smirk before his face turned serious and he added: "Hanna is alive, Molly."

She didn't say anything as she ran out of the building. She jumped in the first cab she saw and cried the whole way home. What Sherlock telling the truth? Part of her knew he was right but the bigger part was to hurt to handle that right now. Hanna Hooper died three years ago, she told herself. Because if she didn't, I don't know what to do.

* * *

**hello luvs! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I thought it was time for Molly to be clued in. **

**okay so a long-ish time ago I did a contest, and the winners got one shots well the first place winner decided she wanted me to read her Sherlock story (which I am nearly finished with, sorry I have a lot on my plate at the moment) while second place wanted a fluffy HanLock (Sheranna?) **

**well im stuck between two ideas, one is definite fluff and the other is kind of/sort of fluff.**

**Fluff- a sort of AU where Moriarty never sent Mathers after Hanna. I've vaguely touched on this before but I thought it would be interesting to actually write it out**

**sort of not really fluff- Sherlock walks into the room to see a sleep walking Hanna sitting in the open window. I cant tell you much more with out spoiling it so i'll leave it at that. **

**so what do you think? I might post both but I only really have time to focus on one right now :/ **

**let me know in the review/comment section also leave your thoughts about the capter! I love hearing from you guys and plan to reply a lot more if I have time! **

**ttfn y'all!**

**-Katy**


	18. The Logical Choice

John was in the living room. Sherlock was at Scotland Yard being brilliant as usual. John would have been there with him but he had a date with Mary soon and had come home early to get ready. Ann had not been there. From the looks her team gave him when he asked, she hadn't been in some time. What was that girl doing? He had wondered as he finished buttoning his shirt. What had happened to her?

He walked out of his room quickly, he was running late, but froze in his tracks. That's where he was now, standing in the middle of the room, his eyes locked on Sherlock's chair.

"Don't look so alarmed, John," she sighed still paging through the book in her hands. "I did live here once."

"You didn't," his tone was rough as he watched her. "Hanna did, you're not her."

Her eyes snapped up and locked with his. Slowly she set aside the book and stood up. He wasn't in her usual attire today. The black pants had been traded for a sleek black pencil skirt and her boots were replaced with studded black pumps. Her black tank top was now a deep blue blouse that dipped down to show off her cleavage. Her hair was up in a half ponytail, the rest of her blond locks flowed out around her like a cape. She walked closer, her eyes raking over him in a way that made him uncomfortable. "How philosophical of you," she said, her fingers interlocking as she began to walk in a circle around him. "I didn't know you had it in you to make such an analogy."

"I'm just remembering what you and Sherlock said," he clenched his jaw. "You're not Hanna, you're Ann now."

Her eyes fell to the ground and she stopped walking, "I am," she smiled softly.

"Just tell me one thing," he said turning to face her. "Is there any hope…any at all… that Hanna is still in there?"

Her eyes met his and he saw a wicked gleam reflect in them, "No, Hanna is long gone."

"Why?"

"That's more than one thing Dr. Watson." She smirked.

"Just tell me."

That smirk didn't leave her lips as she made her way over to the fire place, running her fingers across the skull, "I was weak, now I am not. Caring is not an advantage John. It is a target to be used against you; if you care you can be hurt."

"And now you cannot be hurt?"

"I am untouchable," she said in a low, deadly tone before turning her head to look back at him. "Can't you see it John? I am stronger now, I can handle myself. I don't need you or Sherlock to come save me."

"Like you ever let us," he snorted bitterly, "you were always ready to sacrifice yourself at a moment's notice. In the end, we were saving you from you."

She stood up straight, a slight frown gracing her made up face. "You're smarter than you look."

He glared, "right, I'm leaving."

She stopped him, running one hand over his shoulder and slowly making him face her, "why wasn't it you?" she asked as her other hand ran up his arm.

"Me?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

"You're reasonably intelligent," she smirked and he rolled his eyes, "attractive, and brave. You're even kind. Why didn't I fall for you?"

"Excuse me?" he asked in bewilderment, her hands finding his collar and pulling him close.

"You're honest and sweet," she continued, her eyes locking on his lips. "I will never wonder how you feel, you are the safe choice John Watson, the logical choice." She moved to lean in but he stopped her, pushing her back by the shoulders and staring at her in shock.

"What the bloody hell had gotten into you?" he asked holding her back.

She shrugged and walked towards the door. "I wanted to see what you would do," she giggled turning back to face him a few feet away. "I told you before, I'm bored."

"This isn't a game Hanna!" he shouted.

"Of course it is," she said, her face and voice changing from the giggly school girl of a moment ago to the highly trained killer he knew she could be. "It is a game John Watson, and I am winning."


	19. A Pocket Full of Posies

Sherlock looked at the table carefully there were five notes with five letters. I, T, E, N, and R. He was sure they would lead directly to the Ripper. Personal touches like this always did. But what did it mean? Ben, Jordan, and Eva had gone back to their hotel to rest for the night. Tate was in the corner nodding off; He'd stayed behind to monitor Sherlock but his lack of sleep was getting to him. Most of Scotland Yard was gone, at home with their loves ones.

"Ordinary people are so dull and distractible," Sherlock muttered walking around the table. "Sleep doesn't matter, not when there is a puzzle to solve."

"I missed that," a new voice chuckled and his head snapped up too see Ann standing across from him. "Hearing you talk to yourself. I'd be in the other room but you'd be rambling away like I was right there."

"I don't ramble," Sherlock frowned through narrow eyes. "I was talked to Tatum," he gestured to the, now sleeping, man in the corner.

She smirked glancing between the two before walking up to the table. "Something tells me Tate isn't aware of that."

He cocked his head to the side, "Why are you here? I thought this case bored you."

"It does," she shrugged. "But I also heard you'd found the letters on the notes."

"You knew about them."

"Of course."

The Consulting Detective frowned looking over her. Those Silver blue eyes deducing her as she stood there and smiled her hands slipping into her back pockets, "Something's different."

"A lot changed –"

"That's not what I mean," he said giving her a look as he walked around the table. "I mean your clothing."

She raised an eyebrow and looked down. "Black pants and a black tank top, like always."

"We are both too intelligent to be playing these games," he sighed as he walked up to her, towering over her small body like a giant. "You're wearing tennis shoes."

She looked down at her bright white and blue sneakers and shrugged, "My feet hurt."

"Your hair is down," he said reaching up slowly to twist one blond strand around his finger.

"Well it is quite late," she said, her blue eyes locked on his nose, avoiding his gaze. "I'll be off to bed soon."

"You don't sleep."

Her eyes snapped to his, her lax jaw conveying her surprise. "Tonight is a tea night," she said slowly before taking a step back and recovering from her shock.

"Ah yes," his hand dropped and he turned away from her, walking back to the table. "The tea that sometimes helps you sleeps."

He could hear her shrugged as she walked over to the chair beside where he stood. "When you have insomnia, you find the strangest things to try and get some rest."

"But it only helps you sometimes," he frowned looking over the letters. "Why wouldn't you look for something that helps you all the time?"

"Because the tea, unlike any medicine Ben tries to get me to use, lets me dream," she said, spinning the chair around in a circle before sitting in it.

"And why didn't you tell me?" he asked glancing at her before his eyes turned back to the papers in front of him.

She shrugged again, leaning back in her seat. "At the time it was because I didn't want you to worry more than you already did."

"And now?"

"It didn't come up," she said with a smirk. "Also it's not relevant to the case-"

"You don't care about the case," he waved off her thought.

She pointed at him, her smile growing, "True."

"Why is that I wonder?" he asked as her hand fell back against her leg with a clap.

"Hm?"

"Why do you stop yourself from caring?"

Her smile faded and she sat up, "Because… if I care then the next time a body drops will hurt. I cannot do my job if I care."

"Wrong," he growled turning to face her, her eyes going wide. "Tatum and Ben told us that this was out of character for you. You always put your heart in the cases. But this one is different, why?"

She stood up, her blue eyes like windows into the broken soul beneath. For a moment, while her walls were down, Sherlock could see the grief and sorrow she once hid so well. But then she blinked and it was gone. Her walls came back up and she answered him, "Because you're here."

His eyes narrowed in confusion, "me?"

"You will solve the case, Sherlock," she said with a sad smile. "I'm not a fool; I always knew you would be brought on. I was actually surprise it took Mycroft as long as it did."

"You are letting me have the case?"

"It was yours from the beginning."

"Why?"

She turned to the table, her palms pressed against the glass as her hair fell over her shoulder to create a barrier between them. "Because I need out."

"Out? Out of what? The case-"

"Out of London," she cut him off as she turned to face him, those blue eyes now shining with tears. "Hell, out of England- out of the United Kingdom! I just need out."

Her sudden outburst of emotion shocked the detective, who looked at her with wide eyes, "Hanna-" he reached for her but she slapped away his hand.

"No!" She hissed, "Don't comfort me! You're part of the problem!"

"What?" he asked getting agitated.

"Look at me!" She shouted throwing her arms out, "I've been an emotional wreck since I got here! You keep giving me something to live for and I don't want it! I was ready to die; hell I tried more times than is fair!"

"What do you mean?" He asked grabbing her shoulders, "What do you mean you tried?"

"Fourteen cases over the past two years," she growled. "Every time I was the first to confront but I never took the shot or made the arrest, you're smart enough to understand that Sherlock." And then she ripped herself from his grasp and walked out of the room. He was going to let her go, part of him thought that it was best if he did. But right then, he didn't care to listen to that part.

"Hanna!" he shouted jogging after her. She paused in the hall and slowly turned back around to face him. Her cheeks bore the mark of her tears and she blinked repeatedly, trying to stop more from falling. She was breaking apart, he realized. All her walls and shields were in shambles, it was now or never.

"What?" she asked. Even her voice was weak, cracking as she spoke.

"What happened to you?" He asked with an expressionless face even though inside he was reeling.

"What do you mean?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Don't do that," he said with a sever voice as he slowly approached the girl. "Don't put your guard up, not to me."

"Why shouldn't I?" She challenged him, anger leaking into her eyes. "My walls, my shields… they protect me."

"You are self-destructing inside them," he nearly barked. "You are dying inside Hanna-"

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" She screamed at him as her body went rigid, her arms tense at her sides and her hands balled into tiny fists.

"Never," he said, closing the distance between them. "You are Hanna Hooper, My Angel, My Lullaby; you are My Little Blind Girl." His hands moved to cup her face, his eyes locked with hers. "You will never be anything else in my eyes and this act you put on will _never_ fool me." And then, without much thought or care for possible consequences later on, Sherlock Holmes kissed her.

* * *

**oh snap! were you expecting that cause I was not expecting that ;)**

**please leave a review/comment telling me your thoughts on this chatper!**

**im nearly done with the one-shot so look for that any day now! **

**also I may be going back to just Fridays for updates... idk**

**ttfn y'all! **

**-Katy**


	20. Two Roads Diverged in a Yellow Wood

My life was a poem and for the first time I despised poetry. Robert Frost, a man I once adored had changed into the devil as I found myself in his yellow wood. Before me were two paths but I'd already chosen once. Three years ago when I stepped onto that plane I came to this same crossroads. I chose to shut down. I choose to, as Sherlock said, burn every bridge and reject any future form of companionship. Ben was my greatest sin, my one allowance, but I kept even him at arm's length.

I choose my path; I walked down it with my head held high. I would regret nothing over the next three years because it was justice and who was I to question my punishment?

But now I was back at those same crossroads, back in that yellow wood. With a simple kiss my path had turned and brought me back to where I started. Maybe I was weak, maybe it I had been stronger his kiss wouldn't have changed anything. It _shouldn't _have changed anything.

"Hanna," his voice beckoned me. It wrapped around me like silk, whispering to me. "Change your path, come with me."

I wanted to. God knows that I wanted to. Everything we'd been through, the history we created, I wanted to make it mean something; to make it worth the pain we'd suffered. Didn't we deserve it? After everything we'd paid, everything I lost, didn't we deserve to be happy?

"You played the game," another voice hissed. It ripped and tore away at the silk I'd been wrapped in, cutting away at me. "You played your part in my game," Tomas reminded me. "You kept your mouth shut when you found out it was me. Even after you got your little protectors, even after Sherlock came back. You kept your mouth shut and let me kill four more girls. You're as bad as me, Love, you're a monster."

"Hanna…"

"Monster…"

Two voices, whispering in my ears, pulled me in two different directions. What did I do? What could I do? Do I choose justice or personal happiness?

"Hanna…"

Sherlock was right there, he was still within reach after everything. He remembered even after everything, when he knew that remembering would only bring him pain, he still remembered. He tried to reach out to me, he tried to reason with me but I shut him down. How could I let him in when I had kept everyone out for so long? Did I even know how to be close to someone anymore? Was I capable?

"Monster…"

Tomas was dead, once and for all, but even from his grave that man managed to haunt me. In my ears he whispered his sweet threats, when I closed my eyes there he was. I was haunted by his memory; his touch, his voice woke me on the rare occasion I did sleep. The quiet held only him and his taunting words.

"Mummy?" A new voice entered my yellow wood. The voice I didn't recognize but knew instantly, Molly, my stillborn.

She was there, standing at the crossroad with me and she was beautiful. She looked to be about eight, her hair was an unruly mess of curls white as fresh snow. Her eyes were wide and beautiful, there beheld only wonder in those little sea foam orbs. She looked like me, with her tiny heart shaped face, but her father was there in those cheekbones. If my daughter had lived… Molly Holmes would have been amazing.

"What are you?" I asked as I collapsed into the gravel. "I already have my devil and my angel, they whisper in my ears, they rip me apart from the inside out." She said nothing, only stared at me with those impossibly beautiful eyes. "If not one of them, then what?"

She smiled a perfect set of pearl white teeth, "I am you."

I laughed but there was no joy in the sound, "Me?"

"Your mind has gone into shock," she said. "You've shut down, Mummy. What you are seeing is what you have chosen to see."

"Shock?" I asked raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You've been in a coma for the past week," she said simply. "You can't say you're surprised, this has been a long time coming."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You cannot lie to yourself," she frowned, cocking her head to the side. "I'm surprised you would try."

"I'll try just about anything right now." I whispered looking down at my hands.

"You've been slowly loosing yourself for some time now," she said wondering to the edge of the path and running her small hand over the yellow leaves. "Since you tried so foolishly to shut down your emotions on that plane."

"Foolish?" I asked, "That was justice-"

"You cannot shut down who you are," she said sternly. "You are emotion, you feel everything Mummy. That is why you and Father are so compatible. He is thought, and you are emotion. You challenge each other. he provokes thoughts from you that challenge your very basic understanding of things. You draw emotions from him and show him that there is room for logic and heart. Without you he is a robot, and without him you are a scared little girl."

"It is what I deserve," I whispered. "After everything-"

"There is a cost to feeling that much emotion," She said turning back towards me, "sometimes you feel more than you should."

"Are you saying I'm a victim?" I challenged her, "Because if you are me then you know how I feel about that."

"You hate it," she smiled softly, "but you have me wrong, I do not think you are a victim but I also do not think you are the monster in this tale."

"I'm part of it-"

"And you have paid your price don't you think?" she asked looking down at her hands. "You lost your daughter, your precious daughter. A wound like that never heals. You will carry that whole with you for the rest of your life."

"But is that enough?" I asked. "My one child for four lives?"

"You never talked to their families," she said. "When you wake up I suggest you do that. Talk to them and all the survivors of the fire"

"Why?" I demanded, "So they can apologize, and tell me how much they pity or sympathize with me?"

She rolled her eyes, "Because you know it will give you the closure you desire."

I let out another laugh, "for a kid you sure are smart."

She smirked, "Just like Mummy and Father."

"So then how do I wake up?" I asked gesturing around me. "There are no doors here, no exits."

She gave me a look, which was a perfect reflection of Sherlock's you-can't-be-that-stupid face, before she vanished and I was left alone at my crossroads. I nodded slowly, as I stood up.

Before me, two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and be one traveler, long I stood. I had looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth. Then I took the other, as just as fair, and having perhaps the better claim, because it was grassy and wanted wear. Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

* * *

**hello lovelies! I just gotta say I am so proud of this chapter! it was a struggled (y'all should have seen me last night trying to write this, it was a new kind of hell) but it was so worth it! **

**as always leave your comments/review in their proper section! I love hearing from you guys! **

**also-The Yoshinator IT'S OKAY! SHIT HAPPENS! I MISSED YOU BUT IM GLADE TO HAVE YOU BACK! 3333**

**if you didn't see I put up the one-shot a couple days ago! it's called: **_What's Meant to Be, Will Be_**. and I think it's pretty kick ass! **

**that's all for tonight! I need to get to sleep cause I got an interview tomorrow -_- oh joy... **

**NIGHT Y'ALL!**

**-Katy**


	21. Unless You Share With Everyone

Sherlock stood in the window of the hospitable playing a familiar melody on his violin that John had brought for him. Molly sat in a chair beside her sister's bed, slowly nodding off. Between Sherlock's playing and her own lack of sleep she found herself slowly being drawn away into unconsciousness. John was in the hall watching them through the open door. It had been a week since he got a call from Mycroft saying that Hanna had fallen into a coma. In that time Sherlock, as far as he could tell, had not left her side for anything.

"John?" Mary whispered walking up to him with two cups of coffee. "Any change?"

"No- wait, why are you here?" he looked at his watch. "Oh… our lunch date-I am so sorry."

"It's okay, John," she smiled handing him a cup. "Your friend is in the hospitable. You are needed here. Our date can, and will be, rescheduled. "

He smiled, wrapping an arm around her, "I love you."

She smirked, "I know. So, how is she?"

"There is no change," he said looking back into the room. "The doctors can't explain it, she just shut down."

"And what about him?" she asked nodding towards Sherlock. "How is he handling it?"

John rolled his eyes, "I don't know. He just stands there playing that song."

"Always the same one?" she asked.

"He would never play her anything else," John sighed taking a sip of coffee. "That song- that lullaby- it means more to them. They are each other's Incomplete Lullabies."

Mary nodded, "Oh, I get it now."

"Really?" John asked, "Because I thought I did a shit job explaining that."

"John Watson you are hopelessly blind to what is right in front of you," she laughed lightly. "Sherlock's not just playing that song because, to him, it's about her. He's doing it so that she knows he's there."

John looked up, his best friend stood with his back to the bed where his Lullaby lay. If Hanna could hear them, she would hear that song. She would know he never left her. She would know-

"Doctor Watson," a new voice echoed and the music stopped.

"What are you doing here?" John asked Mycroft as he and Anthea approached.

"Hanna represents a significant investment," he shrugged. "I came to check that she was taken care of."

"How thoughtful," Sherlock said from the doorway. "Your successor will be fine, now if that's all-" he slammed the door closed making Mary jump at Johns side. There was a moment of silence before they heard the violin begin to play again and Mycroft let out a long breath.

"I see you get along about as well as you always have," John rolled his eyes. "Now what are you really here for?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but it was Mary who questioned him, "What do you mean? He just said why he was here."

"If he just wanted to make sure she was taken care of he would have sent someone," John explained to her without breaking eye contact from the eldest Holmes boy. "So what is it?"

Mycroft smiled, "Miss Hooper may be on the path to recovery but she is far from being her normal self." He said holding out his hand for a file that Anthea retrieved from her briefcase. "She has one more secret that  
only a handful of people know."

John raised an eyebrow, "And?"

He held out the file and John took it, "I'm telling you."

"Why?"

"Because it's time my brother found out," Mycroft sighed, "and Hanna won't tell him on her own."

John opened the folder, "These are her medical records; is she sick?"

"Just read it Doctor Watson," Mycroft sighed digging through his pockets. "When you're done you'll need this." He pulled out an old iron key with his surname across the bow.

"A key?" John frowned, "what to?"

"The address is Queen's Rd, Croydon, Greater London CR0 2PR, United Kingdom; you'll know what to look for." He said turning around. "Afternoon."

Lestrade stood behind his desk, his eyes cast down to the same papers he'd been looking at for weeks. The Ripper had dropped his second victim in London and then seemed to have gone into hiding. Not unusual for him. He sometimes waited years between kills. For him there was no time-table, all they could do is wait.

But the anagram, the letters that Sherlock found, was frustrating. It was a clue, a tip as to who this guy was and they couldn't make head or tail of it. "It's probably incomplete," Sherlock said over the phone as he refused to leave Hanna's side. "You won't be able to work with it until we get all the other letters."

"That could be anything from one more to twenty!" Lestrade shouted. "I need more than that." but Sherlock couldn't help, well he could but he wouldn't. He had something more important to do right then and as much as Lestrade hated it, he knew that he couldn't force the Consulting Detective to help him.

That was two days ago, and right now, Lestrade was seriously considering forcing the genius into complacency. Eight more people that he swore to protect were on the line and Sherlock was just wasting away at the bedside of a woman who may never wake up.

"You seem troubled." His head snapped up to see that very same woman standing in the doorway of his office. "I wonder why that is."

"Hanna?" he asked, his voice was hoarse and uneven as he lock his eyes onto her.

"We've been over this," she rolled her eyes in annoyance as she walked into the room on her ridiculously high heels. "It's Ann."

Lestrade swallowed, "Right, sorry."

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she raised one smooth eyebrow as she pulled her blond hair over her shoulder and started playing with the ends.

"Well you were in a coma last I heard," he swallowed.

"I know," she sighed in disappointment as she took a seat. "Fooling them is really too easy, all I have to do is wait for Holmes to fall asleep, attach the heart monitor to Molly and then walk out."

"Why would you do that?" Lestrade asked sitting down in his chair. "Why would you do that to him?"

"Boredom," she shrugged. "He provides the most interesting game."

"Hanna-"

"Ann," she corrected him with a severe face. "Make that mistake one more time and I'll be forced to do something very naughty."

His eyes widened and he leaned back in his seat, "What happened to you?"

She frowned, "How unfortunate, I thought out of everyone you would understand. Not Holmes, not Watson, you."

"Understand what?" he asked in desperation, "I don't understand anything right now, more so than usual."

"Exactly," she said. "You are lost, you want to help but you don't know how and because you don't know you can't. Not doing something is killing you."

"Hanna-"

"Strike three," she smiled, "you're outta here." There was something in her eyes, a sort of wild gleam that sent fear rippling through the inspector.

"Right- its Ann," he said quickly as she stood up and walked around to his side of the desk, kicking off her shoes as she went, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again-"

"Lestrade," she approached him, hiking up her pencil skirt as she went. She straddled him in his chair and ran her fingers over his cheeks, "Shut up." And then, much to his surprise, Ann kissed him.

* * *

**hey guys! so, I feel honored! I got my first bit of hate although it was to the usage of fake deaths in all Sherlock fics in general. someone actually come onto my story just to say that characters faking their death annoys them and then left. if you want to see my rebuttal (because they were a "guest") check out twitter: madefornight I went on a seven tweet rant in reply to this person! **

**so the YouTube channel thing that I talked about a long freaking time ago? well I have channel set up (madefornight, obviously), no videos yet but I have a few ideas floating around in my head so who knows. **

**and to Emma: IM SORRY DONT CRY! 3**

**ttfn!**

**-Katy**


	22. Ashes, Ashes

It was the dead of night but to Sherlock the night was very much alive. The air was charged with an energy he didn't understand as the wind rushed down the hill-side and swept across the lake. It rushed past him and the girl standing only a few feet away, stirring her silver hair as it went. Deep blue eyes were locked on him as they stood on the banks of the lake she'd just been pulled from.

A memory, he realized as he watched her turn to the boy, Ben. He felt that familiar pain spread across his chest like it did anytime he saw them together. Ben loved Hanna; Sherlock was not so naïve as to think any different. And while he didn't think she shared the boy's affection he didn't know. He couldn't read her like he did the rest of the world; Hanna was different, she was unique.

She turned back to him, those blue eyes meting his own silver ones and Sherlock felt the shift; the click of a puzzle piece coming together. At the time he was baffled by the feeling but now, among his dreams where no one could see or hear, he allowed himself to be happy.

Soulmates. A concept he was not unfamiliar with, he had heard the term often enough, but the idea was an absurd one. The idea that everyone had a perfect match, someone who was made for them, was nonsense. Not to mention statistically unlikely. But Sherlock found the idea suited the situation.

When you eliminate the impossible, however improbable, must be true.

So what did this mean? He and Hanna were "Soulmates"? Maybe, he decided. He would allow himself that.

Sherlock smiled at the girl whose blue eyes were so wide and venerable. She really was an angel, he thought as he approached her; all white, silver and blue and gold. He reached out to stroke her cheek and she curled her face into his palm. Those blue eyes piercing through him as her warm hand covered his to lock it in place.

"Hanna," he whispered his voice cracking as he fought back tears. "I am so sorry."

"Why?" she frowned.

He laughed, "You're stuck with me."

She laughed too and kissed his palm, "I can think of worse things, Sherlock… Sherlock… Sherlock... SHERLOCK!"

The shout startled the detective who sat up straight with a jump. He looked around, expecting to see the lake he'd just been at surely? But no, it was a dream, and he was in the hospitable like he had been for the last week. Molly had gone home for the night like she did every night when visiting hours ended. The nurses tried to kick him out as well but he would blatantly refuse and Mycroft pulled a few strings. He wanted to stay with Hanna in case something changed.

Like now as she stared at him with those big, impossibly pleasing, blue eyes. She was sitting up; the hospitable gown was loose on her small frame. Her silver and copper hair was down, framing her heart-shaped face. But the thing that held Sherlock so still and so quite was that he was looking at Hanna. All signs and traces of Ann were gone from her face and body language. Those walls and shields that had been crumbling since he first saw her in the morgue were gone, smashed to dust and before him was a girl that he feared he may never see again.

And part of him was still hesitant, what if it was a trick? Was Ann tricking him into letting down his guard? "Hanna?" He whispered in a low even tone, yet he could feel the emotions rising in his throat. "Is that you?"

She hesitated a moment longer, before a small smiled flickered across her lips, "Hello, Sherlock."

The breath he'd been holding seemed to vanish from his lungs as the emotions, many of which he didn't know or understand, came pouring out of him. Tears he didn't know he had spilled down his cheeks as he gave her a smile of his own, "Hello, Hanna."

Her own eyes shined with tears, "It's been a while."

He laughed once, "Some would say too long."

She nodded as her small hand slowly sought out his, her warm touch making him realize exactly how cold he was. "I'm sorry- I _had_ to go away for a bit."

"Obviously," his smile faltered. "Your secret?"

She bit her lip and nodded as the tears started to run down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Sherlock-"

"You're back now," he cut her off with a gentle squeeze of her hand. "But promise me one thing."

She hesitated again, her brows knitting together in concern and just a bit of fear. "...what?"

He offered her a small broken smile, "Don't... don't go where I can't follow." Her face softened and her eyes went wide, "You- You can't. I don't kn- I don't know what I'll do if you leave again-" She silenced him with a hug, embracing the man in her arms so his tears fell against her gown and hers fell in his hair.

After a while, Hanna pulled back so that her eyes met his. She raised her free hand to stroke his cheek and a small smile crossed her lips, "Never again… Not if I can help it." He gave her a short smile as he nodded. He took her hand in both of his before leaning over to press it to his forehead.

Were they soulmates? He didn't know. But he liked to think so.

* * *

**I love you guys, seriously. you all are so kind and wonderful and lovely 3 thank you for all the words of encouragement and support!**

** im going camping and will have no internet :'( for a few days so that's why this is up early! I hope you all liked it please leave your thoughts in the review/comments section!**

**ttfn my lovely and wonderful readers! **

**-Katy**


	23. A Time to Lie

Hanna Hooper and Benjamin White were found on a small uncharted island in the Atlantic. They had been there for three years before a passing by cargo ship saw their fire on the beach. When they found them Hanna was very weak, she nearly didn't make it. Hanna and Ben were big stories, everyone wanted a piece, wanted that special interview, but the two hid away from the press. Hanna spent most of her time at Baker Street with Sherlock and John while Ben was hulled up in his hotel room. No one could get to them.

At least that was the story Mycroft provided.

"Lost for three years on a tropical island," Lestrade read the article, "clever."

"My brother has his moments," Sherlock shrugged sitting across from him. "I'll assume you didn't call me here to talk about a fake news story, so what is it?"

The woman in you flat is messing with your head for the sake of her own twisted game, oh, and she kissed me. "It seems the Ripper has decided to leave another note," he started, averting his eyes to the paper in front of him.

"Another murder?"

"No, he just left the note." Lestrade shifted uneasily in his seat, looking anywhere but at the Consulting detective in front of him. "On my desk, in the middle of the night, while I was in the loo."

"And you didn't see anything?" Sherlock asked raising an eyebrow.

"I checked the security footage twice," he huffed, gesturing to his computer, "no one was here."

"The note?"

"In German," he said handing him the letter. "And there was no water mark letter on this one."

"Then what makes you think if what him?" he asked looking over the thin white paper.

"Because the note was addressed to Ann," he said finally meeting his gaze. "And officially Ann does not exist."

"Tell that to her Facebook page," Sherlock muttered looking at the words now.

Lestrade gave him a staggered look, "She's on Facebook?"

"Well there is a page dedicated to her," Sherlock shrugged. "Shit Ann Says. Jeremy runs it, not very popular as you can imagine. Ordinary people don't have the capacity to understand her- Inspector are you stepping out on your wife?"

Lestrade's eyes went wide, "What? Why would you say that?"

"You're jumpy, agitated about something. You won't look me in the eye for more than a few seconds, suggesting you're trying to hide something from me," he frowned, "I don't know why, I don't care that there was a young blonde woman in here four days ago and you shagged her-"

"We didn't shag!"

"And I still don't care," Sherlock sighed in boredom. "Why do ordinary people care so much about each other's romantic exploits? It's all rather dull."

He was silent for a moment, to alarmed to say anything. "How- never mind I don't want to know," he grunted. "It- it was a moment of weakness. It won't happen again, you understand that don't-"

"Do I have to spell it out for your tiny little brain to understand? I. Don't. Care." Sherlock said standing up. "Have Hanna's team translate this and text me when it's done."

"How- how is she?" He asked standing up before the other man could leave. "Hanna, how is she doing?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "She, is well… why do you ask?"

He shrugged, "Sense of duty. I failed her once before, I don't want to do so again."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, "Last time you failed to save her from a mad man, what are you saving her from now?"

Lestrade gave him a forced smiled, his hands slipping into his pockets, "Now I'm trying to save her from herself. Because despite what she says… Hanna isn't okay, not yet."

I was in the hospitable for less than a day after I woke up. The Doctors wanted me to stay, to run tests and poke my brain with a needle. Well, probably not but staying longer than necessary left a fowl taste in my mouth. The last time I was here they pulled my dead child from my belly. Cries that I never got a chance to hear echoed off their wall to a point where the noise was almost defining. When I closed my eyes I saw her, that beautiful little girl in the yellow wood.

"Hanna?" John asked, his tone concerned as he touched my elbow and brought me out of my day-dream. "Are you ok?"

I blinked and looked at him, nodding as I gave him a small smile. We were back at Baker Street which had apparently gone to hell since I'd been gone. Books and lab equipment over ran the place. Sherlock had returned to putting body parts in the fridge, I gaged when I opened the door. Granted there was a method to his madness, I could see the elegance behind the arrangement, the flow of his work as he moved around the kitchen.

But something's had to go.

"What is that?" Sherlock asked; his narrow eyes locked on the mini fridge set up on the counter next to the big one.

"For the body parts," I explained as I poured a cup of tea for myself. "I know you won't stop your experiments but keeping them with the food is not going to happen."

"It's too small," he continued to glare at the thing.

"It fits a head, I already tested it," I rolled my eyes. "There is no good reason you can't use it."

"It won't keep them at the right temperature," he persisted.

"There is a dial on the side to adjust it," I countered. "Now are you really opposed to using it or do you just enjoy watching the rest of us nearly vomit every time we go to get a snack?"

He turned to smirk at me, "Maybe just a little."

I raised an eyebrow, "More than 'just a little' you sadist."

"I knew it," John muttered in annoyance from his chair. There was a moment of quiet and then it was gone. In front of me on the counter a baby laid, her tiny arms flailing about as she cried and cried. My grip on my tea tightened as I held back from going to her. My little girl was in distress, I needed to help her. But what could I do for a ghost?

I blinked and she was gone. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen while John sat in his chair reading the paper and Sherlock was looking over his new refrigerator. I took a calming breath before grabbing a bag of tea and walking into the living room to take the seat across from John.

Three days ago I woke up from a coma brought on by extreme levels of stress and anxiety. While I was under I saw Molly Holmes my stillborn daughter.

Now I was awake.

And Molly was still here.

* * *

**OKAYYYYYYYY so many of you are getting confused about Hanna/Ann and her moves on other men so I will only tell you this once:**

**REREAD THIS STORY! I HAVE TOLD YOU EVERYTHING WITHOUT TELLING YOU ANYTHING! the clues are there, you just have to look for them. **

**now that that's over! **

**I hope you all liked the chapter! if you did leave me a comment/ review with your thoughts! I love hearing from your guys! **

**also chapters are going back to once a week! this twice a week thing is killing me a little so updates will be every Friday from now until I die... something like that. **

**ttfn guys & gals! **

**-Katy**


	24. Silent Ice

John didn't know when it happened, hell if Mary hadn't pointed it out he would have continued to go on unaware. They were all just having an afternoon in; Sherlock was waiting impatiently for a call from Lestrade about the note. He and Mary were on the sofa watching a program, some silly show about a man tracking the universe in a blue box. Hanna was standing by the window; those clear blue eyes were lock on the cloudy London sky as she tapped absently on the tea mug in her hands.

He didn't hear the question Sherlock asked but did turn to glance at Hanna who was giving their flat mate an amused smile before shaking her head and rolling her eyes. John smirked and turned back to the TV. Mary fidgeted beside him and he looked down to see her confused frown. He was about to ask but she shook her head and offered him a short smile, turning her attention back to the program.

Later at dinner he noticed it again. Hanna had made them chicken fettuccine and was in the midst of setting the table when Sherlock walked over. He looked over the food with those calculating eyes before reaching towards the bowl. Hanna slapped his hands with the spoon and gave him a scornful look before nodding towards the hall. Sherlock glared but turned and went to wash his hands while John snickered and sat down in his chair. Mary slowly sank into her seat next to him, her blue eyes glancing between Hanna who was carefully transferring the food from the hot pan into a serving bowl, to John and then the bathroom where Sherlock had just finished washing his hands of all the chemicals from his experiments.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, leaning over to whisper to her.

She leaned too, her confused face locked on Hanna's back and she whispered, "She does speak… doesn't she?"

"Of course she speaks," he stated with an incredulous shake of his head. "Why do you ask?"

She turned to look him in the eye, "she hasn't spoken a word since I've been here." John frowned, leaning back as Sherlock rejoined them and took his seat opposite him. Hanna placed the food on the table and gave them a small but proud smile as she took her seat at the head of the table. John served the food and everyone dug in. well almost everyone; Sherlock took one bite and then began his usual routine of pushing the food around his plate.

"So," John began after a moment of silence. "No news on the note?"

"It seems that German is beyond Eva's mediocre abilities," Sherlock muttered and Hanna shot him a glare. "What? You know that this is taking ridiculously long." She cocked her head to the side, and John could almost hear her tell Sherlock to be patient.

"Sherlock is many things," he found himself saying, "but patient is not one of them." She turned to him and smirked, nodding in agreement before taking another bite of her food.

"Who needs patients? Patients is dull," Sherlock complained

"Patients is a virtue," Mary said taking a bite.

"And I am not a virtuous man," he said pointedly. Hanna looked up; her eyes were wide and just a little sad as she reached for the detectives hand to squeeze softly. Sherlock sighed, taking her small hand in his, "You always see the best in people… that will get you killed one day." She smirked giving him a look that John could only interpret as: let them try.

After dinner he and Mary were washing the dishes when he glanced over to see Hanna sitting at the piano, fiddling with the keys. Sherlock was sitting in John's chair, his silver eyes locked on the back of Hanna's silver-blue house sweater.

"So you were right," he said in a low whisper as he handed her a plate to put in the dish washer.

She raised an eye brow, "about?"

"Hanna doesn't speak," he said glancing at the woman in question. "I don't know when it happened but she doesn't talk any more. She communicates through expressions and gestures, but no words."

"You know I'm use to you being blind to the painfully obvious but this is just ridiculous," she sighed meeting his gaze. "So what do we do?"

"You do nothing," he said taping her nose and giving her a small smirk. "It's not your problem-"

"John Watson if you think you're keeping me out of this then you have another thing coming," she said placing her hands on her hips. "Now I love you and Sherlock is tolerable but I like Hanna. I like who she brings out in the two of you- don't argue with me on this, she affects you too. But, I mean look at him," She turned to look at Sherlock, "I've known that man for the better part of a year and I have never seen him look at anyone like that."

John knew what she meant; even though all they could see were curls he'd seen that face more times than he could count. It would come out of nowhere, Sherlock would walk into the room in the morning as see her standing in that window with her tea in her hands. The look, John could hardly find words to describe it. It was like Sherlock's walls came down. When he saw her he didn't have to be the cold and calculating Consulting Detective, he didn't have to be the smartest person in the room and it was almost like he was okay with that. Hanna would never see the way that man looked at her, but John did. And he promised himself that, one day, he would tell her.

Mary turned back to him, "and if you think you're going to keep me from helping them fix whatever's broken then you're not just blind, you're an idiot too." He smirked wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her to him.

"How can I keep you from anything?" he asked resting his forehead against hers, "You'll just ignore me and do it anyway."

"Damn right I will," she smiled, biting her lips as her hands gripped his collar. "Now, let's finish these dishes, we'll talk more about this later."

"Yes Ma'am," he said with a salute as the two resumes filling the dishwasher.

Sherlock remained still until the two left to "talk" in Johns' room. He'd heard everything they said despite their rather poor attempts to be discrete. Hanna was back in the window. Her cardigan was pulled tight, like she was cold; her arms were crossed over her chest keeping it in place. She wore an old pair of skinny jeans that outlined her muscular legs as she leaned into the windowpane. Her hair was down; silver and copper locks fell like feathers around her as she tipped her head to the side. Those blue eyes, locked on the London sky, were filled with an emotion he couldn't begin to understand. And he didn't understand. Ann was gone but Hanna was not back. She was somewhere far away, too wrapped up in her own mind to notice the world around her.

Turning, Sherlock slipped his hands into his pockets and retired to their bedroom. He knew that Hanna would not join him. She would spend all night at the window, like she did every night. He would wake to the smell of food being prepared. John and Mary would be at the table having already begun breakfast and Hanna will not say a word as she served him his portion.

She was there, within reach, but Sherlock had never felt so far away from her. Not when she first faked her death and he became so incredibly angry with her. Even when he didn't remember her and she was trying so hard to be something she wasn't; even then he didn't feel this layer of ice between them. They had been through so much but this, this was different.

Despite her promise, Hanna had once again gone where Sherlock couldn't follow.

And this time he feared that the distance might just kill them.

* * *

**...ouch, that one hurt . IM SOOOOOOOOO SOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY**

**please leave me your thoughts (nice thoughts please) in the review/comment section! **

**next chapter will be posted September 20th and I look forward to seeing what I could possibly write to follow this up because... damn**

**ttfn!**

**-Katy**


	25. Broken Lullaby

Donavan sighed as she stretched her arms out over her head. It had been a long day of the same tail chasing they'd been doing for a week now. The new note had been translated but it was useless as far as she was concerned. The letters would lead them to this guy and this note didn't have any, how did they even know it was from the same man?

"Donavan," she looked up to see Lestrade standing at the end of her desk. "Go home."

"When we got this guy I'll consider it," she said standing up as she crossed her arms over her chest. "And while we're considering things… how long till you tell freak about you snogging his girl?"

Lestrade didn't even flinch, "Since when do you care?"

"Oh I don't," she laughed once, "no; I just want to be the one to tell him."

"Of course you do," he shook his head. "You love tearing down his world don't you?"

"Well he did bring mine raining down on me-"

"That was-" Lestrade stopped himself. "Sherlock sees everything and when he does-"

"He chooses to shout your biggest secret across a room full of people," she snapped. "My parents had no idea I was dating her, they didn't even know I was bi until Sherlock figured it out."

"I'm sor-"

"Did you know I haven't spoken to my parents since that night?" She asked cocking her head to the side. "Oh right, you did; because you were there, as was everyone, when they disowned me and told me to never contact them again."

"Sally-"

"No- do not defend him. Not again and not to me." she growled as she turned and marched down the hall. There were tears in her eyes that she wiped away and cursed. She'd sworn that she was done getting so emotional about this. She wouldn't cry over the past anymore, that's what she'd told herself.

Clearly that was a lie.

"I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the lord but you don't really care for music, do you," Someone sang and she turned to see Ann leaning against the wall of the hallway. "Do you know the song? Beautiful tune, really quite the master piece."

"What are you doing here?" she growled. "Want to snog Lestrade again? He's in his office, I'd offer to show you but something tells me you know exactly where it is."

"I like to visit the people in my sister's life," she shrugged as she looked around the office.

"I've only ever met your sister once," Donavan raised an eyebrow. "I don't much like the morgue."

She smirked, her gaze returning to Sally's as she pushed off the wall, "Big bad detective like you, I never would have taken you as squeamish."

"Why are you here Ann?" she asked folding her arms back over her chest.

"I already told you-"

"No you lied to me," Sally challenged her. "Your sister has nothing to do with this because you don't care. You're as bad as him." She turned to leave.

"Him being Sherlock Holmes," Ann smirked, following the other woman casually, "You know I never knew what happened between the two of you. Hell, I don't think he knows. He is so terribly forgetful of these little things-"

"STOP!" Sally shouted. "Just, stop. I am sick and tired of everyone saying that it was just a little thing because it wasn't, okay, not to me."

Ann took a step closer, twisting a lock of silver hair around her finger. "I know it wasn't. Sherlock Holmes ruined your life with his freak super powers."

"Powers you have too," she sneered, "I'm glad he's found you, I hope the two freaks will be happy together." She moved to push past her but Ann grabbed her arm and pinned her to the wall. A move Donavan didn't think was possible in that blouse and skirt. Those cold blue eyes met her own brown ones and she felt fear race through her.

"Now Sally," she frowned mockingly and she cocked her head to the side, "let's not be like that. I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" She laughed, "How can you help me? You're sleeping with the man-"

"I'm going to tear Sherlock's world apart," she said with wide eyes and a sadistic smile. "And when I am done he will have wished I gave him the choice to jump off a building."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Sally growled.

Ann took a step back, letting her off the wall, "You never answered my question. The song, do you recognize it?"

"What does the song have to do with anything?" She demanded, "you said-"

Ann silenced her with a look, "Did. You. Recognize it?"

The look on Ann's face, that could only be described as cold and mad, sparked life back into that shiver of fear Sally had felt earlier. "Hallelujah… right?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Ann smiled again, "correct, but there is one verse I'd like to direct your attention too. Well your faith was strong but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof…" she trailed off, inclining her head towards Donavan.

"Um…" she swallowed hard, "Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you…?"

Ann nodded as her smile grew and took on that same sadistic tone it had before, "very good, do you know the last bit?"

Sally shook her head, fear taking her voice.

Ann frowned slightly, "I'm going to rip Sherlock Holmes to shreds, Sally, and you asked me how." Sally nodded, finding her back against the wall once more as Ann leaned into her and finished the verse. "She tied you to her kitchen chair, she broke your throne and she cut your hair and from your lips she drew the hallelujah…"

Ben walked into 221B Baker Street, the paparazzi shouting questions at him the whole ten feet it took for him to walk from the cab to the door. He didn't really care; it was more irritating than anything because it hindered his work. He was confined to his hotel and the team had to come to him. This was the one exception to his otherwise apparent grounding. He could come to Baker Street to report to Ann. that was all Mycroft would allow until their story blew over.

He walked into the living room expecting to see an annoyed Ann pacing the perimeter, looking for a way out. That was not the case. In the window, dressed in a white summer top (despite the fact that it was nearly Christmas) and skinny jeans, was Hanna Hooper.

"Ben?" John's voice drew him out of his trace and he met the shorter man's gaze.

"When- when did she go back to being…" He couldn't finish his sentence.

John nodded slowly, giving him a half-smile as he answered, "After she woke up from the coma."

Ben let out a hard laugh, "Well good, good… I thought that Hanna was dead. You- you proved me wrong."

"Being wrong should come as second nature to you now," Sherlock said stepping out of the kitchen.

Ben's jaw tightened, "I guess it still manages to surprise me."

Hanna turned towards them and the three men all locked eyes on her. She frowned a moment before her gaze fell on Ben. He didn't know what he was expecting, a smile, a hug, something. But the flicker of recognition in her eyes before she turned back to the window was not it.

"What was that?" he demanded in a low tone. "What the hell happened to her?"

"We-we don't know," John spoke up, before Sherlock could, and gave his flat mate a silencing look until he walked away. "Right anyway as I was saying; we don't know what happened to her. She woke up and for a while it was like everything was fine, she was Hanna sort of-"

"Sort of, what do you mean?"

"She would just stop, in the middle of whatever she was doing, and just stand there for a moment." John tried to explain. "What was in her hand would be crushed by her grip until it passed and then she would continue as if nothing happened."

"You never asked her about it?" Ben growled and John held his hand up to calm the boy.

"I didn't want her to run back into her shell," he said and Ben's face softened. "And then, without me even noticing, she stopped talking. She hasn't spoken in… a week as far as I can remember and she spends all her time standing by that window; staring at nothing. She may have woken up from her coma but she is still wrapped up in her head, Ben."

He took a step towards her, "Can we do nothing?"

"Don't you think we've tried?" Sherlock's voice hissed and he spun around to see him standing rigidly in the threshold of the kitchen. "Don't you think I've tried?"

"Sherlock-"

"She promised- she promised and she lied to me and now…" he trailed off as his silver eyes slowly dragged across the room to the back of his beloved. Ben turned his head, unable to stomach the look on Sherlock's face. "I tried everything to get through to her, my Lullaby… it did nothing, she didn't even turn as I played."

"Perhaps your Incomplete Lullaby has run its course," Ben offered lifting his gaze to meet the other man's. "Maybe… a new song is in order."

Sherlock returned the boy's cold gaze as he walked up so they were face to face, nose to nose. "And whose song do you purpose? Yours?"

"Hey now let's-" John tried to interrupt.

Ben shrugged slightly, "Stranger things have happened and I did spend three years with the woman."

"Two," Sherlock corrected. "You've spent nearly every day with her for two years, before that you were separated."

John put his hands on their shoulders, "Let's just back up and-" they shrugged him off

"How did you-"

"It's my job to know." Sherlock sneered.

"That is not your job."

"Guys-"

"I make it my job," he growled through narrow eyes. "Everything about her is my job."

"You know who you sound like?" Ben challenged, jabbing his finger into Sherlock's chest, "Mathers. If my memory is correct I believe his exact words were 'Anyone who comes within ten feet of her is his to play with.'"

"You're point?"

"If you're not careful, Sherlock, in your mission to be her protector you might become her new Monster." Ben knew the impact his words would have. He knew the blow he was dealing, but he was just so angry. Angry at Sherlock and Hanna for having the connection they have. Angry at Hanna for using him and then dropping him like yesterday's trash; angry at himself for letting her. But he was mostly angry as the suddenness of the severed bond. He always knew it would happen, he just didn't think it would be now.

Sherlock glared at him a moment longer before an almost desperate look crossed his face and he turned back to look at Hanna. She was staring at them; those blue eyes holding a quiet curiosity before the corners of her lips twitched up. It was just the brief flicker of a smile before she turned back to the window and let out a short breath.

"Nothing," Sherlock choked out, his hand covering his mouth as he turned back away from her. "Nothing…"

"It's okay Sherlock," John sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. "We'll think of something-"

"Look at her John!" Sherlock shouted spinning around. "She's an empty shell-" he stopped, his hands running through his hair, as if to pull it out from the roots. There were tears in the eyes of Sherlock Holmes and Ben felt the pain of sympathy wash over him. "You said that Hanna was still in there-"

"Sherlock-"

"You lied!" he shouted over his best friend. "There is nothing- whatever happened to her over these last three years has killed her… My Little Blind Girl is dead." And then the Consulting Detective turned and walked down the stairs and out of the flat. As he crossed the street Hanna moved. She raised her right hand and pressed it to the glass, watching him as he walked away.

"But-" Ben began as he turned to John who nodded.

"I know," he said with a sigh as he crossed his arms over his chest. "She does that every time he leaves."

"Why haven't you told him?"

"He won't listen," he shrugged, "and she can't tell him."

"So, that whole act," Ben guested between himself and the spot Sherlock had just stood. "Me and Sherlock going at it-"

"Was to try to shock her out of whatever this is," John said. "And with its failure we have run fresh out of ideas. Mycroft is the only one who could possibly know what this is but he won't tell Sherlock because 'he was sworn to secrecy'..." John trailed off a look washing over him.

"John?" Ben asked. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just need to go over a file," he said frowning. "You can let yourself out right?"

"What is it?" Ben asked.

"I'll handle it," he said in a final tone. "Go back to your hotel room Ben, we will deal with this."

As he started to walk away Ben spoke up one last time, "I love her too," he said causing John to freeze in the hallway. "I may not have the relationship you two have with her but I do love her. And you can't keep me out of this forever." John said nothing as he continued walking into the back.

Ben heard a door close and he shut his eyes. Damn them, damn them all.

A warm hand pressed against his cheek and his eyes snapped open to see Hanna standing in front of him. Her eyes were vacant of emotion as she gave him a small smile and wiped the tear that had fallen. "H-Hanna?" he whispered as he let out a shaky breath.

She smiled again, cupping his face in her small hands and brining him down to rest his forehead on hers. She closed her eyes for a moment before letting him stand back up right and meeting his gaze again.

"Thank you," she mouthed, caressing his cheek on more time before her hands dropped and she turned around. He watched her walk back to the window before he left the Baker Street flat.

A place, Ben knew, he would never visit again.

* * *

**I know I said this wouldn't be up till the 20th but im posting it now cause I have a party tomorrow night and then I'm going to sleep till I work and I wont be able to post it till around 10-10:30 at night and I don't want to make you all wait that long 3**

**remember i love you all when you start to hate me for the torment i put these characters through 3 3**

**leave me a comment/review in the proper section cause i love hearing from you all.**

**only one person has commented saying she things she knows what's going on which has me a little disappointed in the rest of you. i know you all are brilliant and smart and wonderful so figuring this out should be a walk in the park.**

**also check out my new Star Trek into Darkness short story: The Unsavory Tragedy of Kiley Martin**

**I decided around 4am last night that it was a good idea to start this. why? because Benedict 3**

**anyway next update is for sure on the 27th unless some other unforeseen predicament pops up.**

**ttfn!**

**-Katy**


	26. The One Who Saw Too Much

John looked at the last page of Hanna's medical records again. It was there, in black and white, but he couldn't believe it. To think Hanna of all people suffered this fate; it made her behavior clear at least. He remembered, three years ago before she "died" the first time, Hanna shut down after Sherlock left the flat in a fit of anger. At the time John didn't understand what had happened, that Sherlock had all but told her he blamed her for the deaths of those women, and when Hanna shut down he was even more lost.

"Hanna can't handle grief or heartbreak," he remembered Molly telling him. "So she doesn't, she shuts down until someone forces her to confront those feelings." Grief and heartbreak were two things Hanna couldn't handle and she was suffering at the hands of both.

"John?" Mary yawned over the phone as she picked up. "It's nearly two a.m., why are you calling?"

"I need you to come somewhere with me," he said trying to keep his voice from shaking. "If I give you an address can you meet me there?"

"I-I suppose, but John, what is this about?"

"You said you wanted to help fix what's broken between Hanna and Sherlock," he choked out. "Well first we have to fix Hanna and I think I know what's wrong."

There was a pause, "What?"

He shook his head, "Do you have a pen?"

John rattled off the address and exited his room. Sherlock hadn't come home yet and would probably be out all night. Mrs. Hudson was fast asleep in the flat below and wouldn't rise till dawn. Hanna was still standing in that window; her blue eyes watched the falling snow. Her expression was unreadable as she followed the flakes till they hit the cement.

"I'm going out," he said. She didn't even twitch. "I- I'm going to Queens Road." Her body tensed and he nodded slowly. "I just thought you should know." He turned and walked out of the flat, down the stairs where his Jacket hung.

"John?" her voice echoed down to him and he look up to see her standing in the landing. "D-do you hate me?"

He shook his head, cocking it to the side. "No, Hanna, I don't hate you. I'm just sad… and disappointed. You didn't come to us, to him."

She nodded, folding one arm across her abdomen as if to hold herself together. "I'm sorry, John."

"Me too."

He turned to leave but her voice stopped him again. "You will tell him, won't you?"

He turned back to look at her, "You should, he deserves to know."

"Sherlock deserves the moon the stars and everything in between," she whispered as tears started to fall down her cheeks. "These are things I cannot give him so you must. John… tell him I'm sorry, I am so, so sorry-"and then before he could say something her hand clasped over her mouth and she ran back into the flat. He wanted to go after her, everything in him was telling him to go after her. But Mary would already be on her way to the address. He had to go; Hanna would have to wait a few more hours.

Half an hour later John stood on the street outside the Queen's Road Cemetery. He was leaning against a lamppost waiting for Mary. His face was a mask of sorrow as he checked his watch again.

"John!" she called from behind him as she jogged up the block. "Hey! I'm here!"

He turned around and, without any words, he embraced her. Mary was confused; she didn't know what was happening or why John had called her to a cemetery in the middle of the night. And now the man she loved was holding onto her like a life jacket. She wanted to say something but what? She didn't even know what was going on let alone what to say.

"I-"he started as he let go of her. "I'm sorry for calling you out of bed so late, thank you for coming."

"John," she whispered meeting his gaze. "What is it? What is wrong with Hanna?"

John cocked his head to the side as a bitter laugh escaped his lips, "Hanna doesn't grieve like normal people. She- well you saw her."

Mary's eyes went wide, "What happened to her then? What is she grieving?"

He looked at her for a moment before taking her hand in his, "I'll show you."

They walked the dark paths of the cemetery. John guiding her to the very heart of the place as he shined his flashlight on every family tomb he came across. It seemed like ages passed as they wandered further into the tomb stones. Mary, much to John's surprise wasn't nearly as shaky or frightened as he expected. But then again, he kept forgetting that she wasn't like other girls.

"Here we are," he said finally finding the right family tomb.

"Holmes?" Mary frowned, "I thought this had to do with Hanna."

"It does," he said giving her a half-smile. "Let's go in." He reached into his pocket and produced the large iron key Mycroft had given him that day in the hospitable. Sliding it into the slot and turning the handle the key turned into the door knob as he pushed the door open. Inside was even darker as he gave her a second flashlight and they began to look around.

"Um, John?" Marry frowned near the back of the tomb. "Do most of these things have basements?"

He walked over to her to see the hidden stair case descending further down into the earth. "Not typically, but I imagine if you have enough money it can be arranged. And from what I've gathered of Sherlock's family, money is not an issue. Let's have a look-"

Mary hesitated, "Down there?"

"Yeah."

"Do we have too?" He met her gaze and for the first time saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. He'd forgotten for a moment that, though she continuously surprised, there was a limit to her bravery. Mary was human, with normal human fears and moments of doubt. She could break and if she, the strongest woman he knew, could then Hanna could too.

"If you don't want to that's fine," he said tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll be back in just a bit." He turned to leave but she grabbed his hand to stop him.

She gave him a short smile, "Safety in numbers?" He chuckled, wrapping and arm around her waist before leading her down into the dark.

The room was large, the walls covered in plaques with names of Holmes family members long gone. He looked closely at the names while Mary hung back by the stairs. He didn't know what he was looking for; he didn't even really know why he was here. Proof? He had that back at the house in Hanna's medical records. But even then he knew that he still didn't quite believe it. He could have read those words a thousand times and it still wouldn't have been real.

He stopped at the last name, directly across from the stairs, and felt the wind vanish from his lungs. "Oh… oh Hanna." He whispered as the room flickered to life and Mary walked over to him.

"I found a light switch on the wall over there," she said. "I guess they put lights in… John? Are you okay?"

He shook his head, tipping it to the side as he pointed to the wall in front of him. Mary gasped, her fingers hovering over her mouth as her eyes raked over the plaque before them.

Molly Ann Holmes

Beloved daughter of

Hanna Hooper and Sherlock Holmes

~And miles to go before I sleep~

"Hanna had a baby…" Mary whispered leaning into John.

"A stillborn," he nodded wrapping an arm around her. "It was all there in her records, I-I just didn't want to believe it."

He looked at him, tears forming in her eyes, "Do the doctors know what-"

He nodded looking down at his feet, "The poison that blinded her. What was in her system didn't affect her but it was too much for the baby. She died in the third trimester and Hanna was forced to carry to term."

"She's grieving the loss of her child," Mary said in a low tone. "That poor girl."

"I prefer woman," a new voice behind them spoke up. "But everyone insist on calling me girl, it's really quite annoying."

"Hanna-" John began.

"Ann, actually," she smiled clasping her hands together as she took a few steps forward; her spiked black pumps clicking against the marble floor.

"John-"

"What are you doing here?" he asked, baffled. "How are you here?"

She shrugged, a mischievous smile gracing her fair features, "Let's just say I'm a good actress."

"John-"

"In a second," he hushed Mary. "Actress, what do you mean?"

"Oh please," she rolled her eyes, "you don't honestly believe this whole grieving business do you? Something died, get over it."

"You can't mean that."

"But you know I do," she cocked her head to the side in a way strongly reminiscent of a snake.

He swallowed hard, "So this whole time, the losing your voice and standing by the window day and night… that was all an act?"

"Ding, ding someone get this man a prize," she giggled walking across the floor to the wall of names adjacent to theirs.

"Why?"

"John-"

"Because I like games," she said looking over the plaques. "And because I can. When you aim to tear apart the world's only Consulting Detective you have to get creative."

"No," he shook his head, "this isn't you Hanna. You wouldn't do this!"

She spun around, her expression reminding him exactly how dangerous she had become, "Don't presume to know anything about me John Watson."

"John!" Mary shouted circling around to the front of him. "You need to listen to me-" her sentence cut short as her eyes went wide and she slumped forward into his arms.

"Mary?!" he shouted, "Mary?!"

"Don't worry," Ann smirked looking at the small blow dart in her hands. "I won't harm a hair on her head provided you do exactly as I say." She snapped her fingers and two large men came down the stairs. They moved to take Mary but John fought them. He tried to protect her, he tried to save her but they over powered him as one took away the woman he loved and the other held him.

"Hanna, stop this," he pleaded with her, "stop it right now."

"I can't do that John," she shrugged giving him an indifferent smile. "See… she saw something she shouldn't, something you are too blind to see. But like I said I won't harm a hair on her head if you do exactly as I say."

"And what is that?" he demanded, his whole body shaking with anger.

"Go home and act like none of this happened," she smirked walking across the room so they were eye to eye. "Don't tell Sherlock. He can't know about me, not when there is still so much to do."

"What are you talking about?"

She ran her finger over his cheek as a cold and crazed smile crept across her lips, "I'm talking about the game, John Watson. I am in the midst of a game of chess and I have nearly finished the set up for check mate. Soon there will be nothing left of Sherlock Holmes because I… will have torn him the shreds."

"You've gone mad," he growled out.

She giggled, "In the best possible way. Something I picked up from an old friend, Tomas Mathers, before his untimely demise. See that really shook up the game, someone had to act. I was chosen." She turned her back and started up the stairs. "Have a good night Doctor Watson, I'll be in touch." And then her and her henchman left.

Leaving John alone in the hollow tomb.

* * *

**DID YOU THINK I WAS KIDDING WHEN I SAID I WASNT GOING TO BE NICE?! I AM PUTTING THESE CHARACTERS THROUGH TOTAL HELL! YOU ALL SAID YOU WANTED A SEQUEL AND NOW YOU REGRET IT DONT YOU?! **

**leave you're treating remarks in the comment/review section 3 and remember I love you all! **

**if anyone is interested I started a new Sherlock/oc story called: An Nimh Milse. there is a new OC who puts a new spin on Sherlock's world. takes place after the Reichenbach Fall and I just posted chapter 2.**

**that's all for today, im off to watch the new season of Black Butler and try not to start a fanfiction about that... so tempting... **

**Ttfn!**

**-Katy**


	27. The Frankenstein Monster

I ran back into the living room as the tears fell down my cheeks and I sank down to the floor. Around me the silence of the empty flat screamed in my ears and I cried into my knees. All that I was, all that I once stood for had faded as the trials of my life slowly ate away at me. I'm a shadow of myself and I didn't know how to come back from this. People liked to think that I was somehow invincible. "If anyone can come back from this, it's Hanna; she's tougher than she looks." But I'm not; I am human, I am weak. I broke like any ordinary person would.

The front door closed behind John and I paused. I waited a moment for him to get a safe distance away before I stood and wiped the tears from my eyes. I calmly walked into mine and Sherlock's room though it was more or less his; my clothing occupied a certain percentage of the closet. I went through my things before coming across a black cocktail dress. It was slim and fitting, a piece that would attract attention to the wearer. It was perfect.

Walking into the bathroom I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and looked into the mirror. Staring back at me was Frankenstein's Monster. I was neither Hanna Hooper nor was I Ann Arsvitae but a merging of the two. I looked like Hanna but I bore the scars of Ann trying to sew me back together. I suppose that was the tragedy of Ann, she was made to protect Hanna from her scars but in doing so she created scars of her own.

The copper ends of my hair caught my attention as I lifted a hand to twist a red lock around my index finger. Copper, red; a scar I kept as a reminder of what had transpired. A cut opened as Hanna and left untreated as Ann until it became infected. Looking at it now I couldn't understand why I thought it necessary. My upper arms bore pale imprints of the fire that I so dearly wanted to remember. Between the length and color my hair was the biggest example of the Frankenstein I'd become. The length was Hanna's and the red was Ann's, but none of it was me.

Walking out into the living room I reached for Sherlock's katana, which he kept near the desk. I gripped the sword in my hand and started swinging it around in my hand. I twisted and turned the sword moving with my body, nothing but flashes of silver in the dim street light. This was me, I thought as tears kept down my cheeks. I'm a fighter, a trained killer, an expert assassin. I am a grieving mother, and a broken woman. There is every reason to fear me and every reason to care for me. I was not who anyone wanted me to be; the one they remembered was gone, and I would never be them again. Hanna and Ann would always be a part of me but they were not me.

I am the Frankenstein Monster and I am okay with that.

I cartwheeled back onto my feet and took a few steps towards the mirror. My eyes locked with the blue ones staring back and me and, with a flash of silver, I cut off my hair. Copper and white covered the floor as I stared into the mirror above the fireplace. Frankenstein's Monster stared back and I watched her transform. She stood a little taller; her eyes lost that frightened and haunted look that they bore as she dropped the sword at her feet. No longer did I see bits and pieces of two fairytales forced together but one solid and beautiful story that I identified with. I was her and she was me as it was supposed to be.

Behind me, in the mirror, a little girl smiled. I looked to her; she nodded before disappearing in a silver mist and I was left alone in the flat I loved so much.

"Time to go Anna," I said looking back into my eyes. "There is work to do."

* * *

Sherlock sat alone in the conference room where Hanna's team kept their files on The Ripper case. Spread out across the table was papers and photos that he quickly raked his eyes over. There was something among these plies that was wrong, something he couldn't quite place.

"Why are you still here?" Lestrade asked walking into the room and crossing his arms over his chest.

"There is a case to solve inspector," he said walking around to the other end of the table. "Where else would I be?"

"At Home," Lestrade said crossing the floor to the opposite side of the table from Sherlock, "Taking care of Hanna."

"Hanna is well."

"I get regular updates from John don't try and lie to me," Lestrade said with an even tone. "There is something wrong with her-"

"There is something wrong here!" Sherlock shouted slamming his hand down on the table before glancing up at the other man, "The sooner I figure it out the sooner you'll be able to have a decent night's sleep, something you haven't had in what? Three weeks?"

"Sherlock-"

"Right around the time you and that blond shagged in your office. Dear me, is it really affecting you that much?"

"Sherlock-"

"I suppose you could tell your wife to clear your conscious but then she would probably tell you about you about the barista down the street from your home so I doubt it work out well for you in the long run."

"Sherlock-"

"But there is something here more pressing than your affair," He continued circling around to the other side. "Something is wrong among these pages. Something I'm missing!"

"Sherlock it was Hanna!" Lestrade shouted and the Consulting Detective froze. "It was Hanna in my office that night."

"That is impossible," Sherlock stood up straight, "Hanna was in a coma."

Lestrade held up his hands, "I know."

"Then, pray tell, how one person can be in two places at the same time?"

He sighed, "She said she would wait till you fell asleep and then attach the heart monitor to her sister-"

"To Molly?" Sherlock asked spinning around. "Are you sure?"

"Uh… yeah?" Lestrade frowned as Sherlock turned back around to the table and began searching through the papers. Lestrade waited, confused as to why Sherlock would be working on the case and not hitting him for snogging his girl.

Sherlock laughed; circling something on one of the pages, "Of course, of course!" He chuckled, handing the paper to Lestrade before reaching for his jacket and scarf. "Lestrade you, like John, are remarkably good at kicking start my genius so I must say thank you. Savor the moment, I won't repeat myself."

"What- where are you going?" he demanded following him in to the hall.

"One person can't be in two places at the same time, Inspector," he said pausing in the door way. "The phone records are they key. The answer was there all along. Now if you'll excuse me I must be going, but first-" he punched Lestrade in the jaw and the inspector fell to the ground. "That's for thinking you kissed Hanna, never make that mistake again." and with that Sherlock walked out of Scotland Yard.

* * *

**I am so proud of this chapter that words cant ever begin to describe. like... damn. **

**anywho leave me a review/comment in the appropriate section cause I love hearing from yous guys.**

**see ya'll next Friday unless I see you out about and about the interwebs (twitter: madefornight, tumblr: openlettertobenedictcumberbatch) **

**ttfn**

**-Katy**


	28. I Believe in Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock didn't believe in Angles. He didn't believe in anything that he couldn't see with his own eyes and he most certainly didn't believe that a person could be completely good. Everyone had a dark side and everyone was capable of evil. At least that's what he believed; until he met Hanna. When he first came in contact with her he was blinded by what seemed to be a white soul. A being with a dark past but still managed to be good. She made him believe Angles.

Sherlock didn't believe in Demons. If Hanna was good then Ann was not. She moved only for her own desires. She worked for Mycroft only in theory; she did as she pleased and no one would say otherwise. The teasing, the flirting she wove throughout their reunion was designed to seduce and destroy. She was trying to destroy the purity with which he viewed Hanna. She was trying to kill the one thing he held most dear. She made him believe in Demons.

Sherlock didn't believe in Heaven. And then he got Hanna back. For a few short days after she woke from her coma everything was perfect. For a few days she was alive and vibrant. They would talk about anything and everything and they were completely immersed in one another. She would challenge his emotions and pull them into his once logical thought process. A thought that once disturbed him but she, somehow, made it reasonable. She showed him how to control emotion and logic and use it to his gain. She made him believe in Heaven.

He didn't believe in Hell. And then, slowly, the darkness of Ann stated to taint the once snow white soul he'd come to adore. He saw it happen as she began to withdraw into herself. Nothing he did or said made a difference. He couldn't get through the new walls she'd put up and he never felt so isolated from her. She made him believe in Hell.

Now, as he sat in the cab on his way back to Baker Street, he felt his world shaking as one of his basic points of knowledge about her was crumbling away. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the numbers. She answered on the second ring.

"Hello-" Molly began but he cut her off.

"Was Hanna adopted?" he asked and there was a moment of silence on the other end.

"What?"

"Was Hanna-"

"No I head you the first time," she said cutting him off now. "I'm just surprised it took you this long to figure out."

"Shut up."

"I mean we look nothing alike," She ignored him. "No one else is near as smart as her. It's tradition in my mom's family for the kids to have names that begin with M; you worked that out when we first met-"

Sherlock hung up on her. Hanna Hooper was adopted, of course she was. Like molly said, he should have seen it and now that it was confirmed he didn't understand why he hadn't before now. It was all there, literary right in front of his face, and yet he might as well have been blind. He'd thought he'd been two steps ahead, in his understanding of His Lullaby, but he was always four steps behind.

"Sir?" the cabby questioned drawing him out of the thoughts. "We're here, 221B Baker Street."

He looked out the window, "We are. The question is, what version of Baker Street am I walking into: Heaven… or hell"

The driver frowned, "are you on something, Mister?"

Sherlock met the young man's eyes before rolling his own and stepping out of the car. He walked slowly across the pavement to the door which was unlocked. He entered the landing and paused. Mrs. Hudson was asleep as it was the middle of the night. John was out; he stopped at the bottom of the stairs to talk to someone before making a hurried exit.

"Who was he talking too?" he pondered aloud before sighing and shaking his head as he berated himself, "stupid, stupid. Obvious." He took off his coat and hung it up on the banister before making his way up the stairs.

The living room was, nearly, as he left it but one thing had changed in the most drastic of ways. The Hanna that he left had vanished. Gone where her jeans and cardigan and instead she was dressed in a small black dress that hugged her curves. A pair of black strappy heals sat on the floor a few feet away from her, discarded in a moment of anger. But the thing that drew in his attention was the new length, or lack thereof, Hanna's hair. The silver and cooper locks that once reached her lower back now lay scattered across the floor and what was still there barely reached her ears.

"So who are you?" he questioned stepping into the room. "Hanna? Ann? Or are you someone new?"

"D, all of the above." She said quietly, not looking away from the falling snow.

"Ah."

She sighed turning to look at him, "I need your help."

He raised an eyebrow, "my help?"

"I've nearly solved the case," she said. "But I find my observation skills are… lacking."

"You're going blind again."

"I told you I was nearly out," she muttered turning away again. "I thought I had enough to last me through the case and then I would be done. But when I went to get some… it was all gone."

"How have you been working on the case?" he asked with a calm expression. "You were catatonic."

She looked over her shoulder but her eyes were cast down at the ground. "Not for all of it."

"So you lied," he said slipping his hands into his pockets.

"I had too-"

"No that's my job," he said, his face turning very serious. "I lie to the people around me; I use them to solve the case. You-"

"Sit idly by and wait for you to save me?" she asked meeting his silver eyes with her own dangerous look as she turned to face him.

"Yes."

"I did that once," she growled as he took a few steps forward. "People died."

"PEOPLE ALWAYS DIE!" he shouted. "It's what they do!"

"That's not good enough for me!" she countered, taking a few steps of her own; her eyes shining with tears. "And the sad thing is… you know that about me."

"How am I supposed to know anything about you?" he demanded. "I don't even know who you are anymore. Between Hanna and Ann I lost track of what I did or did not know about you."

She reached forward to place a small hand on his cheek, "No you didn't. You just don't believe in me like you use too."

He didn't move he didn't speak; he just stared into those blue eyes as she cracked a half-smile.

"I believe in you Sherlock," she said running her thumb over his cheek bone, "I believe in everything you do. The only question is: can you believe in me too?"

* * *

**DO YOU GET IT YET? please for the love of god someone tell me they get it. y'all are killing me here.**

**sorry I didn't update on Friday, I was in such a bad mood I might have killed one of the characters and no one wants that right now. but just a warning, I have plans for someone close to Hanna to die eventually. that might change that might not idk yet. **

**well I need to get to bed cause I have to work in the morning (ugh) i'll see you all on Friday (maybe, possibly) **

**ttfn guys**

**-Katy**


	29. I Believe in Hanna Hooper

"I believe in you Sherlock," she said running her thumb over his cheek bone, "I believe in everything you do. The only question is: can you believe in me too?"

"How can I believe in you," he began, pulling her hand down from his face and holding it against his chest, "when I don't even trust you?"

"Trust is irrelevant," She countered, "because trust, in itself, is a lie. A pretty little lie we tell ourselves to justify our sentiment."

He quirked an eyebrow, "And belief isn't?"

"Belief goes deeper than trust," she said taking a step forward so they were pressed together. "John doesn't trust you as far as he can throw you but, he believes in you more than anything."

"An interesting notion."

"You're avoiding the question."

The corner of his lip twitched as he released her hand and turned away, "Because I don't know the answer."

She stood there a moment before bring her hand to her heart and looking after him, "Sherlock," she warned, "don't make me prove you wrong. You know the answer."

He leaned against the window frame, glancing over at her as he muttered, "It's the wrong answer; laced with sentiment, not logic."

He eyes widened and her palm pressed flat against her chest, "Sentiment? You-"

"I believe in you," he whispered, meeting her eyes across the dark room. "Despite my better judgment and all the facts telling me not to…I still believe that you are good."

She smiled at him, it was quick and fleeting and full of cracks as she took a hesitant step forward. He watched her, her eyes fill with questions he didn't know, as he crossed the room. His hands, with those long piano fingers, cupped her face to wipe away the tears that had started to fall down her checks.

"I-I didn't know," she stammered. "I thought for sure you'd lost faith in me-"

Sherlock tipped her chin up before he pressed his forehead against hers, "How could I lose faith in the woman I love?"

The suddenness of her movement shocked him. And when he felt the warmth of her lips pressed against his, Sherlock Holmes stopped thinking. His hands dropped to her waist as he pulled her small body against him and her nails raked through his dark curls.

She pulled away and lead him over to their chair. He sank into the cushion as she hiked up her dress to straddle her Detective. Her hand cupped his head, her thumbs caressing the soft skin of his cheek as she drew his lips back up to hers. Sherlock didn't think as he wrapped his hands around her waist to pull her closer to him. He didn't think about the fact that John could walk in on them at any moment or how Mrs. Hudson would probably be the one to clean up after them. All he knew was her touch, the warmth of her body pressed against his and the surge of desire he felt when she gently, teasingly, bit his lower lip.

"God I missed you," she purred, sitting up straight and rubbing their cores together.

He choked back a groan, "As did I."

She laughed, drawing his chin up to look at her, "You didn't remember."

Large hands grabbed her hips and slid around her the hem of her dress. His eyes locked with hers and a smirk crossed his lips. "Something's you just cant forget," he whispered dragging the fabric up over her ass to squeeze the soft flesh. She pressed her forehead against his as she let out a small moan before his lips found hers again. His tongue swirled around hers, drawing into his mouth as he took control of the kiss. Her hands found his hair again as she greedily took those dark locks into her fingers and pulled. His head followed his hair as he leaned back and she gave him a sly smile.

"Good," she teased rocking her hips back on his lap. "I would hate to have to reteach you a few things. Virgin."

He sat up straight, pulling her flush up against him as his lips brushed across her neck. "Call me that again, and I'll be the one teaching you," he countered as he gently bit her collar bone, causing her to moan.

"Right, these need to go," she muttered as she undid the buttons of his suit. "Damn you and your layers."

He smiled as he undid the zipper on the back of her dress and let her pull off his jacket. "It's only sensible in this weather. Unlike this dress…" he said pushing her off his lap so the dark fabric pooled around her feet. His eyes raked over her nearly naked body before returning to her face giving her a smirk. "Anything used to cover a work of art is pointless and should be disposed of."

She laughed again, "You really know how to sweet talk a girl, don't you?"

"Wouldn't know," he husked out as he reached for her hands, desperate for the heat of her, "You're the only one I've tried it on."

She smiled as he pulled her in and she set her knee on the chair between his legs, "Smooth, Sherlock, very smooth."

He let go of her hands to run his fingers the length of her torso. Starting on the baby pink bow of her black lace bra in the valley between her breasts and slowly ghosting the down her stomach to the matching bow of her boy shorts. Leaning forward he repeated the action, only with a different part of his body. Planting little butterfly kisses down her body with his Cupid's bow lips. Hanna smiled at him as she ran her nails through his dark curls. Something like electricity raced across her skin with every kiss causing her to shiver with every touch. He paused just below her navel and looked up to catch her eyes. They were lock on him, half hooded and filled with lust. Her breasts, pale perfect orbs barely contained in the thin lace of her bra, rose and fell with her uneven breaths. "You are beautiful."

She took one finger and stroked his jaw line, "You didn't care about things like that."

He leaned back in the chair, pulling her down with him so that their faces were mere inches apart. His hand rose to caress her flushed cheek and push back the hair that had fallen into her face before he whispered, "Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it."

She let out a laugh before kissing him again and returning to her place in his lap. Her fingers trailed down his neck to grip the collar of his shirt and pull him upright in the chair; trying to bring him even closer before she let out a frustrated growl and pulled away. "Buttons, buttons; why do you have so many damn buttons?" she grunted as her skilled fingers began to make quick work of them.

He smirked at her frustration, "to tease you with my dear."

She popped open the last button before looking back into his eyes, "well then, two can play at that game." Slowly she pushed off of him and sank down to her knees in front of him, planting small teasing kissed down his smooth, toned chest. She placed her hands on his knees, her thumbs stroking the insides of his legs as she slowly pushed them forward. She paused at the top of his thighs, glancing up at him through thick lashes and giving him a small smirk when she saw the lust and need burning in his eyes. After a moment to let him suffer properly, she slid her right hand over the clear bulge in his slacks. Sherlock choked back a groan and she slowly stroked him through the fabric. When she felt like he had paid for his comment she locked her eyes with his and slowly lowered her head to his groin.

She let out a warm breath as she passed over his cock and he let out a warning growl. She smirked before taking the button of his slacks in her mouth and using her tongue to unbutton them. Sherlock watched her, those blue eyes taunting and teasing him as she took the zipper between her teeth and slowly dragged it down. He stood up so they fell around his ankles and the tent in his pants was directly in front of Hanna's face.

She reached up, running her nails down his stomach to the hem of his boxers. Just as she was about to pull them down, to join his slacks on the ground, the door to the living room flew open and they turned to see John standing in the threshold with a rather horrified looked on his face.

Sherlock didn't miss a beat, "Hello, John."

"Really Sherlock?" Hanna rolled her eyes. "You're best friend walk in on us in the middle of an... intimate moment, and your reaction is to greet him?"

He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow, "your reaction was to criticize mine; neither of us is ordinary." She laughed as she got to her feet and politely stood in front of Sherlock, hopping John would loss the horrified look on his face. He didn't.

"John?" she asked stepping forward slowly. "Are you okay?"

Behind her Sherlock shrugged, "Well considering Mary was just kidnapped by your twin sister I think being "okay" is a little out of the question."

* * *

**hola loves! so the winner of first person to have the right hunch is- FreakinLimitedEdition! IF YOU ALL WERE PAYING ATTENTION YOU WOULD HAVE NOTICED A FEW MAGIOR HINTS LIKE WHEN SHE WAS TALKING TO LESTRADE SHE SAID SHE WAS SNEAKING OUT OF THE HOSPITABLE BY WAITING FOR SHERLOCK TO FALL ASLEEP AND THEN ATTACHING THE HEART MONITOR TO MOLLY BUT THEN IN THE NEXT CHAPTER SHERLOCK REVEALS THAT MOLLY GOES HOME EVERY NIGHT!**

**there are more but that was the biggest red flag and no one caught it and UGH I love you all but come on!**

**okay so there is no chapter next week because im going on vacation and idk if or when i'll have a chance to write at all. also there may not be a chapter the week after either. im not sure but if you follow me on twitter (madefornight) or tumblr (**openlettertobenedictcumberbatch) **and i'll try an keep you all posted. **

**that's all for today i'll see you all in time! **

**ttfn,**

**-Katy**


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